tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69054487517170255102024-03-13T05:35:20.250-07:00Camino NotesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-53050757550870714842014-08-17T16:12:00.000-07:002014-08-21T18:04:22.699-07:00Harold L. Graham - July 16, 1930 - July 12, 2014Peregrino, "Harold from Houston," passed away on July 12, 2014. He came in from his daily hike feeling great. A little while later, he told his wife he was going to lay down for a bit. A few minutes later, he slipped away across the threshold from this world to the next.<br />
<br />
Buen Camino, Harold.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://haroldlgraham.com/">http://haroldlgraham.com/</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-78709318615373386682012-10-24T03:23:00.001-07:002012-10-24T04:56:05.050-07:00The End of the EarthOn the day it rained so heavily - the day we walked from O Coto to Arzua - Dad and I stopped about midday at a tiny cafe. It was crowded with pilgrims sheltering from the rain under a blue tarp stretched over outdoor tables and chairs. We greeted pilgrim friends as we sat down and turned our attention to our cokes and potato chips (the best sustenance on offer in the cafe). <br />
<br />
The couple at the table next to ours did not appear to be pilgrims. They weren't wearing the 'uniform' of hiking boots and rain gear. The gentleman greeted us and asked about our Camino, where we started, when, and (of course) about Dad's age and health. He then told us that he was a taxi driver from Santiago and the young woman with him was his niece. He was driving her to Sarria so that she could start her pilgrimage there. We all commiserated about the rain and the walking, then he and his niece stood up to go. We said goodbye and joked with him, "See you in Santiago!"<br />
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People are so nice and friendly all along the way. <br />
<br />
Three days later, the sun was out and Dad and I were in Santiago. We had obtained our compostelas, handed in our clothes for washing, and were standing at the concierge desk asking about the bus to Finisterre when we each felt a tap on our shoulder. "Hola amigos!" It was our friend the taxi driver from the blue tarped cafe. We were as delighted to see him as he seemed to see us; and the concierge said (pointing to our friend),"He is the best taxi driver in all of Santiago! You should have him drive you to Finisterre and Muxia." <br />
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So that is what we did. We arranged with Jose that he would pick us up at 10 on Sunday morning and take us on a day trip - a scenic drive winding along the coast up to Finisterre, then to Muxia, and back to Santiago. Then Jose offered to drive us for free to the travel agency where we could complete our travel and lodging arrangements for heading home. <br />
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The drive on Sunday was amazing. Jose pointed out and explained the importance of 'horreos' (http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hórreo) - the ubiquitous and often ancient corn cribs that dot the Galician landscape. <br />
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Galician culture is essentially agrarian, which Jose pointed out is very hard work. He said that all households with even the tiniest plot of land will grow a patch of corn. Corn bread and a soup made with corn are staples of the farm diet. Corn also feeds the dairy cows. Galicia is a major supplier of milk and cheese. So, preserving the corn harvest is crucial. <br />
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The horreos are built on stone stilts that serve two purposes. They keep the harvested corn up above any flooding in the rainy, river-rich province and the shape of the capstones on stilts prevents rodents from getting to the grain. The sides of the horreos are slotted to allow for ventilation which prevents mildew in the damp weather. All of this, Jose communicated with slow, careful Spanish and hand gestures. <br />
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He drove us to a church dating from 1327 and showed us the ancient gravestones on which no names appear. Instead, symbols indicating the occupation of the deceased are carved into the ancient stone slabs. Footprints indicate a zapatero (shoe maker), an anchor in a circle indicates a sailor/boatman, and line drawings of the tools of the trade indicate carpenters and blacksmiths. <br />
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As we arrived in Finisterre, Jose spotted two peregrinas who were standing at an intersection trying to discern the way. Some pilgrims, rather than stopping their walk in Santiago, continue on foot to Finisterre - literally translated as 'the end of the earth' - where it is said that the pagans used to gather to worship the setting of the sun. <br />
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Jose rolled down the car windows to shout,"Buen Camino!" and point the way for them. He told them that his passengers (me and Dad) were also pilgrims. We asked the two women where they had begun their pilgrimages. One had started in Leon. The other, a young woman, had started in Switzerland. She had already walked 2000 kilometers and soon would reach the end of the earth. We congratulated them both and went on our way. <br />
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As we approached the shoreline, we passed a pilgrim family, a mother and her young daughter (about 8 or 9 years old) leading a burro loaded with packs, a toddler brother seated on top, followed by Dad leading a second burro, also bearing packs and an even younger child. They were carrying flowers and leaning into the wind that whips the coast. <br />
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We slowly drove onward and upward until, finally, Jose parked the car. We got out and he pointed the way for us to walk out to the edge. Dad and I walked on and were soon greeted by familiar faces, pilgrims we had met along the way. Some we had not seen for weeks, others we had seen the day before in Santiago. <br />
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At the very edge, there is a stone cross where some pilgrims leave tokens. There is also a fire-pit where many pilgrims burn something they have carried or used on the journey. Some burn clothes. Some even burn their boots. <br />
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Dad and I consigned nothing to the flames, but stood in the whipping wind and billowing smoke, and looked out beyond the edge of the earth. This was once the very last bit of the known world. What lay beyond the ocean's horizon was as much a matter of speculation and faith as what lies beyond death. <br />
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We bowed our heads for a moment, then turned back to the known world and a smiling Jose. <br />
<br />
From Finisterre it is a short drive to Muxia, an even smaller village and another edge place. Again, we scrambled out on the rocks to see the ocean waves breaking huge and turquoise blue under a glowing gray autumnal sky. Deep breaths, and back to the taxi for the return trip into Santiago. <br />
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We had done all that we set out to do. Now we would make our ways home.<br />
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Really dark. As we stepped forward into it, we were immediately presented with a fork in the path and no arrow or marker visible to indicate which way we should take. <br />
<br />
Three other pilgrims joined us. A couple of us had tiny lights (a headlamp and a keychain flashlight) and we cast their beams about in search of a marker. All we could see was the beams glowing against the dense morning mist. <br />
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One of the others returned to the point where the dirt path met the pavement and came back to report that someone had drawn a supplemental arrow on that sign post which seemed to indicate the left hand path. So we struck out in that direction. <br />
<br />
After going a few paces, we passed a blue plastic garbage pail which we took as a good sign. We had seen other, identical trash receptacles at intervals along the path the day before. <br />
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Eventually, we emerged from the dark and misty eucalyptus forest onto a road with a Camino marker. Rejuvenated and reassured, we walked briskly on as the sun rose in a clear sky and cool morning. Hurray! No rain in the forecast. We would be walking into Santiago in the sunshine. <br />
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There was an eagerness and optimism to the walking. We had walked longer distances the two preceding days so that the walk into Santiago would not be a strain. We climbed what we knew was the last hill and stood at the top looking for landmarks the guidebook said we'd find there. <br />
<br />
Mist in the valley obscured the view - so we didn't see the spires of the cathedral from our hilltop. We somehow also missed seeing the famous statue of pilgrims overlooking Santiago which is on that hilltop somewhere. Apparently one must turn off the path to find it; and we missed the signs that might have directed us. <br />
<br />
I have to admit that I don't really mind missing a side trip at that point. I was pretty focused on getting to the Cathedral and (figuratively) setting down the back pack for the last time. <br />
<br />
Downhill and down stone steps, we came to the edge of the city and plunged into a world of crosswalks, roundabouts, traffic, and noise. Constantly scanning for signs pointing the way, we steadily walked our way deeper into the city. <br />
<br />
For a long time we saw no other pilgrims and were beginning to worry that we had lost our way. We had no choice but to follow the path of scallop shells embedded like brass breadcrumbs in the sidewalk. At last we spotted two tall, confident looking, Nordic pilgrims marching a few paces ahead. If we were on the wrong track, at least we had company. <br />
<br />
Very soon we could see that we were indeed on the right track as the spires of the cathedral came into view between the buildings ahead. Alert to the subtle shifts in direction indicated by how each shell was oriented in the pavement, we worked our way through the ever older streets. We heard a bagpiper in the distance, then passed him as we descended into the square … and arrived. <br />
<br />
There it was - the cathedral and the square full of pilgrims just leaving the noontime mass. We hugged each other and as we stepped forward heard a shout to our left. <br />
<br />
A couple of pilgrims whom we had met in El Acebo were right there to greet us with hearty and joyful congratulations. Pictures were taken. Tears were shed (by me). Hugs all around. <br />
<br />
They gave us advice about when to arrive to be sure we were able to get a seat at the next day's pilgrims mass (be there about 10:30 for the noon mass); and they gave us directions on how to find the pilgrim office where we could get our compostelas (certificates of completion of the pilgrimage). <br />
<br />
I asked Dad if he wanted to go straight to the office for the compostelas or if he wanted to check in at our hotel first. He suggested that we go to the hotel and get their stamp first, then go to the pilgrim office. <br />
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I had made the arrangements for our hotel so it was up to me to lead the way. I turned and headed across the square, pointing to large, historic building along one side of the plaza. "That's our hotel."<br />
<br />
"You did great" he said, "that's easy to find … oh my … it's the Parador."<br />
<br />
"My treat."<br />
<br />
We checked in to our luxury accommodations, dropped our day packs and headed back out in search of the pilgrim office. We found it with little trouble and joined the long line of pilgrims. <br />
<br />
We had arrived at the cathedral at 1 p.m. By 2 p.m. we had our compostelas. By 3 p.m. we had delivered our clothes to the hotel laundry and received assurances that we would have clean clothes by 8. Bliss. <br />
<br />
Tomorrow, we'll attend the mass and visit with other pilgrim friends who have arrived or are arriving in Santiago. On Sunday, we have a trip planned by car to Muxia and Finisterre (the end of the earth). <br />
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Rain was falling all day - a steady drizzle with occasional drenching showers. Then, the next day, we got up and walked another day in the rain. This time stopping in O Coto. O Coto is so small that the only thing there is the B&B we stayed at. The proprietress was a raspy-voiced, belly-laughing soul who asked how old dad was. When I told her she exclaimed," Ay, que guapo!" <br />
<br />
Yes, he does look great. <br />
<br />
She fed me chicken soup (I have sniffles from days of damp) and fed Dad a thin steak and fries - all the while patting one or the other of us on the arm and bellowing out some jovial comment we could not understand. <br />
<br />
In wakeful moments during the night, I listened to the rain coming down in sheets. My socks were hung on the heater in hopes they would be dry by morning. Looking at them, I suddenly realized the practical logic of stockings hung by the chimney - it's not just about Christmas presents. <br />
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The rain was still falling heavily as we ate our toast and drank our cafe con leche this morning. Our hosts shook their heads and waved their arms, fingers fluttering to demonstrate just how much rain was falling as they shouted, "Lluvia!" (Rain). <br />
<br />
Yeah, we knew. Rain. Lots of rain. <br />
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We pulled on waterproof rain pants, panchos and hats and set out. It rained all day again. We walked up hill and down dale along muddy woodland paths. Beautiful, soggy landscape. By the time we reached Arzua, today's destination, we were soaked through. <br />
<br />
Our boots are stuffed with newspaper so they will be dry in the morning. Our clothes are draped over the heaters so we can pack or wear them tomorrow. We plan to walk to Arca Do Pino (Pedruozo, Galicia) tomorrow (Thursday the 18th) - about 20 km. <br />
<br />
The day after tomorrow, we'll arrive in Santiago. The weather forecast taunts us with pictures of suns overlaid with raindrops. What does that mean? Hopefully, it means - rainbows. <br />
<br />
Very few pictures. I can't be pulling the iPhone out in a deluge. The structure is a grainery - traditional to Galicia - built up on stilts to protect the stores from vermin (and flooding, one supposes). The lace was a project of our jocular hospetalera in O Coto. The roll-y bags belong to one of the tour groups that stayed at the same hotel with us in Portomarin. They had nice clothes to wear at dinner. <br />
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<br />
It rained all night but morning greeted us with nothing harsher than a cold mist. So we fortified ourselves with cafe con leche and hit the trail. <br />
<br />
The guidebook promised we would start the day on 'a delightful downhill path winding through enchanting woodlands.' Reality proved to be a steep path climbing a further kilometer (or two) before descending for the remaining 12-14 kms into Tricastela The good news was that though the descent was often steep and rocky, the rain had stopped so we were not contending with wet and slippery. <br />
<br />
Our B&B was on the westernmost edge of Tricastela. Happily, it is a small and level town. We checked in, took our showers, hand washed our clothes and hung them out on the balcony before going in search of our meal. While it was not raining, the air was heavy with humidity and temps were quite chilly. We were not optimistic about the likelihood of dry clothes by morning. Two straight days of clammy polyester shirts - ick. <br />
<br />
We woke to more mist and chill, dressed in our still damp clothes, and lashed soggy socks to our packs (hoping that there would be sun to dry them on our backs as we walked); but it continued to drizzle, so we tossed our ponchos on over top of the whole shebang and squelched our way out of town. <br />
<br />
This day's destination was Sarria. Sarria is the last town of any size on the Camino that is more than 100 km from Santiago. Consequently, it has long been a traditional starting place for pilgrims who wish to walk only the final 100 km required to obtain a *compostela* (certificate of completion). We have been joined by tour groups of peregrinos, fresh to the trail, chattering and stopping often to photograph one another. We veteran pilgrims just shake our heads, exchange knowing glances, and keep walking to a steady rhythm. <br />
<br />
I am carrying my pack again, having been pack-free since leaving Astorga; and this day would test whether I was back to full strength. While it was a long walk, I found I was able to keep up the pace and we arrived in Sarria weary but in plenty of time to find shops still open and to purchase the <br />
bits and pieces we needed to replace dwindling supplies. <br />
<br />
As we were climbing towards our albergue - literally climbing several flights of stone steps - a pilgrim woman we had never seen before came running up to Dad and asked,"Are you from Texas?" When he replied in the affirmative, she said,"I've heard about you! A Canadian lady showed me your photo and told me about you." Yes, his fame is spreading up and down the Camino. Now that there are photos, there are also 'celebrity sightings' of Harold from Houston. <br />
<br />
We had a good rest that night at the albergue (where they offered laundry service-oh the rhapsodies that I could sing about clean, dry clothes!). We left Sarria about 8:35 a.m. and by noon had passed the marker indicating the point at which Santiago was only another 100km away. A truly important (and literal) milestone of the journey. <br />
<br />
Coming into Portomarin, we crossed a long and dizzyingly high bridge over the river Mino, only to find at the end a tall set of stone steps leading up to town. Dad marched up them without hesitation. I took a picture as he started the climb and then followed him up. The view was spectacular. The rain had stopped. We were dry and now within 90 km of Santiago. <br />
<br />
We found our hotel, rinsed out a few things and then checked our maps. If knees and weather hold, and if all else goes as expected, we should walk into Santiago this Friday! <br />
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As the days are shorter now, we often find ourselves walking out of town in the pre-dawn gloom. In the larger urban areas, the path is not well marked. Dad and I lost the way for a few blocks and were given remarkably bad advice on how to get back on track by two different people. Happily, we did not follow the misleading directions. Instead, we pulled out the incomplete map in our guidebook and made our best guess about which way to wander. We were back on the right path in fairly short order and soon were away from city streets and traffic. <br />
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Cloudy skies overhead kept us cool as the sun rose and provided a lovely rainbow on the hilltops as we turned onto a track that took us through the vineyards. <br />
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It is harvest time. The leaves on the grape vines are turning. Families and communities are out in the vineyards picking the grapes together amidst conversation and laughter. <br />
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We arrived in Villafranca de Bierzo a good three hours before our albergue was set to open for the day; so, we parked ourselves in a nearby cafe and enjoyed some cafe con leche. Later we wandered around town, located the supermercado and met up with fellow pilgrims. Together, we hatched a plan to all get together and cook a shared dinner in the albergue's common kitchen. <br />
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We checked into the albergue and discovered that the private room with two beds that we had reserved was a private room with bunk beds. I was going to have a top bunk experience, enhanced by the fact that the rungs on the ladder spun when I stepped on them. The need to call on my acrobatic skills was counterbalanced by the fact that the albergue offered a laundry service. Dad and I put on our rain gear and handed over every other stitch of clothing we had. Clean clothes are the basis of civilized society (that and hot showers). <br />
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We met our pals back at the supermercado at the appointed hour and were delighted to discover that one of the young men in the group was a chef. Did we like chicken scampi? You bet! We donated our Euros to the cause and stepped out of the way. Young people have so much energy at the end of the day. <br />
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They called us to the table to have guacamole as starters then chicken scampi with a lovely fresh salad. We also shared two bottles of local wine, one white and the other red. Both were lovely. <br />
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Leaving Villafranca the next morning put us on an immediate, long and very steep climb. Relentless. As soon as we were certain we had passed over the peak, the path would take a turn and up we'd go again. <br />
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Finally we were indeed on the way down just as sharply as we had ascended. By the time we reached relatively level terrain, we had spent four hours getting over the mountain. The remainder of the walk to Vega de Valcarce was a breeze by comparison. We were nevertheless very happy to sit down on the soft couch and chair provided by our B&B. <br />
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No wifi in V de V - so we cooked some spaghetti in the kitchen for our lunch and spent the afternoon napping and reading as a gentle rain began to fall. <br />
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When we woke this morning it was raining in earnest. We pulled on our rain gear and checked the guidebook to confirm that today would be all uphill -15 km with a 2000 ft increase in altitude. <br />
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We made frequent stops to rest, including a beautiful breakfast of farm fresh fried eggs and beautiful bacon in one of the little towns. In Spain, coca cola is made with sugar rather than corn syrup and it was my 'drug of choice' today as energy for the ongoing climb. <br />
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At about the 13km mark we crossed from Castilla into Galicia. The music in the cafes was now decidedly Celtic and as we arrived at today's destination, O Cebreiro, it felt as if we'd hopped a continent and were in Ireland - rolling green hills in rain and fog being grazed by cattle with bells softly ringing. Our hotel is in an ancient grey stone building attached to the church. The rain and temperature continue to fall. <br />
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The town is packed with peregrino friends and we are gathering around fireplaces in the local bars, sharing stories and vino tinto (red wine). <br />
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Tomorrow is a gentle downhill with minimal climbing, so dad plans to carry his pack and we've agreed to walk 20 km to Tricastela. The next day's walk should get us to Sarria. <br />
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At Sarria we will be just over 100km from Santiago and, to get the compostela (certificate for completing the Camino) one must walk the last 100km. Taxis, buses, trains, bicycles and even horses are no longer an option. <br />
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Closer, ever closer. <br />
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Dinner was great fun because we were able to share it with a couple we had met on our first stop in Orrison and whose path we had crossed a few other times - Bill and Janice from Calgary. Together we celebrated that there was a wonderful cabbage and carrot soup on the menu Things get pretty simple on the Camino. <br />
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The next morning, we walked out of town early enough that the stars were still out; and I kept turning to look back and catch the sun rising. <br />
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Our next stop was Rabanal del Camino where we stayed in an albergue run by the most cheerful and kind family. At one point during the afternoon, I realized that my little blue sack containing my journal and watercolors and phone cord had been accidentally taken by another pilgrim when he packed up to move on after resting at the cafe where I'd been sitting. <br />
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I had not seen him. Our hostess had seen him and even remembered the little sack sitting amongst his things as he packed; but she couldn't recall what he was wearing, only that he was Portuguese. I could only hope that when he realized his mistake he would mail it all back to me at the home address I'd written on the cover of my journal. <br />
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Our hostess was less inclined to resign the sack to its fate. She dashed off to get her son who jumped in his car (with me in the passenger seat) and off we drove up the mountain track that is the Camino leading out of Rabanal. I kept wondering how we would find a person who's only known characteristics were his gender and nationality. My host/taxi-driver was not worried. <br />
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We drove all the way to the next village where he stopped in at every cafe and albergue to ask if they had a portuguese pilgrim and to tell them our mission. Names and phone numbers were noted and promises given that they'd watch out for pilgrim and sack. Then, the son's phone rang. His mother had found our pilgrim back in Rabanal and recovered my sack. We backtracked to each albergue and cafe calling off the watch and then drove happily back to home base. This is the way of things on the Camino. <br />
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That evening Dad and I attended Vespers in the ancient church (along with another pilgrim pal from our first night in Orrisson - Carol from Victoria). The priests and congregation sang vespers in Latin - a call and response gregorian chant. <br />
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Up again with the dawn, we had cafe con leche with Marcel from Quebec and headed out for El Acebo. Everyone was looking forward to the day's walk with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Today we would pass the Cruz de Ferre (iron cross) where the tradition is for each pilgrim to leave a stone, symbolically representing the shedding of some personal or spiritual weight. We also would be making a climb up and over a mountainside including a notoriously steep and rocky descent. Mindful of how difficult and dangerous had been the descent in the Pyrenees, Dad and I both had our packs ported and carried only day packs with weather gear and water. <br />
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We arrived at the Cruz de Ferre without difficulty. This is the place of the highest altitude along the Camino. The weather was cool but not cold, overcast but not raining. Perfect for the climb. We each took a moment to leave the stones we've been carrying just for this purpose since we started. Then we walked on - each a little lighter. <br />
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The countryside is once again green and we are enjoying the mountain views as we walk. The descent into El Acebo was even more treacherous and long than we anticipated and it was with quaking knees and fulsome gratitude that we arrived at our Casa Rural (B&B) on the eastern edge of town. <br />
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Shower, eat, nap, laundry, eat, sleep, pack, walk. We were up and away by 8 a.m. <br />
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Today we made the final leg of the descent - just as rocky and steep as yesterday, but not nearly as long - and arrived in Ponferrada about noon-thirty. We passed the huge Knights Templar castle at the edge of the 'old city', and made our way to the hotel. A good day of walking was appropriately celebrated with pizza and beer for lunch followed by an hour long nap. <br />
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Tomorrow we have another 15km to cover but it is relatively level terrain. Dad plans to carry his pack. I am having mine ported at least until after we've completed the last big climb up to El Cebriero (probably on Thursday). It looks like we are about two weeks away from Santiago at this point. Amazing. <br />
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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOyMpVKh33y4AB71odRwqytuZCt1O_80BOQuUmD2WAB025ZtAGaWeJZwyNVxLQtyQQt19_0hGmggO7XatHXZTO-kw43bRloIf0Hkp8A4I2wCtMRJcPOH9nNKn2bYVa2nv_Db3CZ4p1ETO/s640/blogger-image--1298976304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOyMpVKh33y4AB71odRwqytuZCt1O_80BOQuUmD2WAB025ZtAGaWeJZwyNVxLQtyQQt19_0hGmggO7XatHXZTO-kw43bRloIf0Hkp8A4I2wCtMRJcPOH9nNKn2bYVa2nv_Db3CZ4p1ETO/s640/blogger-image--1298976304.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-65199898731348852442012-10-05T01:41:00.001-07:002012-10-05T01:44:47.189-07:00Meson El LlarWe spent five nights in Astorga, resting, reading, eating. Every morning, Dad would get up, strap on his pack and walk five kilometers to the next town - Murias de Rechivaldo - where he would have a coffee and croissant, and then walk back to Astorga, just to stay in shape. I didn't go with him on the first day, and on the rest of the mornings, though I did go with him, I did not carry my pack. <br />
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In Murias we found one of the gems of the Camino, a small cafe called, Meson El Llar. The owner, Pilar, is an exuberant force providing handmade breads, cakes, and sandwiches including a vegetarian bocadilla made with organic produce freshly harvested from her garden. <br />
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On the morning I met her, Dad introduced me as his daughter. Pilar turned towards me with her arms open for an embrace and I found myself - under the spell of the tango music she constantly plays - slipping one arm around her waist, clasping her other hand in mine and spinning the two of us through the opening steps of a tango. A delightful meeting of minds and hearts and tango aficionados. <br />
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There is nothing to compare with a restaurant run by someone who lives to nurture others by feeding them beautiful food. All juice was hand squeezed to order. All dishes were prepared and presented with love and enthusiasm. Her artisan bun with fried huevo, jamon, and queso made me pity the pale shadow of an excuse for food that is an Egg McMuffin. <br />
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This morning, we were leaving Astorga for the last time and heading out again for Santiago. We were saying goodbye to Pilar too, so she made a special "chocolate" for me - a cup of hot chocolate literally as thick as pudding. In it she mixed orange and cinnamon. Amazing. She toasted bread on the grill and served Dad's and my cafe con leche with the tostada plus fresh butter and honey so thick it spooned up and spread like jam. <br />
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While we were eating a woman came out of the restroom holding a money belt and asking who it belonged to. Some poor peregrina had accidentally left it behind when she walked off. How dreadful to have to walk back from wherever she was once she discovered the mistake; but at least her passport and money were safe with Pilar. <br />
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As Dad and I embraced her and were saying our goodbyes, Pilar said to him that she had been born too late to know her grandfathers and that he would be her grandfather. Dad was happy to agree. We waved farewell and set out for the next small town, Santa Catalina de Somoza and the albergue there where we had reservations and to which 'JacoTrans' would be delivering my pack later in the day. <br />
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We arrived a little before noon and found other pilgrims there with whom we had shared breakfast at El Llar. They told us that the lost money belt had been recovered. Pilar had been so concerned about the pilgrim-sans-documents that she had gotten in her car and driven along the Camino to try and find the owner of the money belt --and had succeeded in reuniting the two. This is how it is along The Way. <br />
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In the meantime, Dad continues to collect grandchildren. A pair of young men from Korea stopped for beer and rest in Santa Catalina and were chatting with Dad. When they learned he had been in Korea for the war, they spoke with deep gratitude of the sacrifices of American soldiers who died there and they thanked and offered blessings and gifts to Dad for his service, calling him 'Grandfather' and asking to have their pictures taken with him. <br />
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By latest count, he has collected a Spanish granddaughter and two Korean grandsons in addition to the Chinese granddaughter he picked up during law school (not to mention the seven grand kids and three great-grandchildren that came to him by the more usual way). <br />
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There is no wifi service here in Santa Catalina, so we are having a lo-tech afternoon, lazing like lizards in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, we walk to Rabanal. I plan to continue to have my pack ported for the next week or so while I get back in condition. I may even decide to have it ported after I'm back in shape. 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurAo_ySt2jNm8hLeceOJxNT2BAEJ4gVjtP5YefHEa0Uu4V3KmQgFhb-Ydq2MvLBVU8h_w5m1f86awhLv0icyhzOX88NfISA_R7SyLkE3w3ukgh9gTn7wKYs2jJNaagW3V0TwV3lW0_C_i/s640/blogger-image--1737858021.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-78556196509303082802012-09-30T06:07:00.001-07:002012-09-30T06:27:47.814-07:00AstorgaThe train trip from Granada to Madrid was more dramatic than we expected. On the day of our travel, Spain was experiencing torrential rains. It had been raining off and on in Granada but not enough to hint at the situation just a few miles west. <br />
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We were standing in the train station waiting to board when the announcement came that there was a problem with the tracks between Granada and the next stop; so they were going to bus us all to the next stop and put us on the train there. We didn't understand what the problem could be until our bus was slowed to a crawl passing through high water and going around roads closed due to washout danger. We passed several drowning olive orchards. <br />
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The bus delivered us safely and the train trip onward was uneventful. We stayed overnight in Madrid then took a commuter train (stops at every stop) to Astorga where we checked into Hotel Gaudi - a lovely place on the square with Gaudi's Palacio Episcopal and the cathedral of St Marta. <br />
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Today is Sunday, so we've spent it getting oriented and making plans. We expect to stay here in Astorga until Thursday. I'm feeling much stronger and starting to eat again. Good thing I brought pants with drawstring waistbands! <br />
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This morning, to stay in shape, Dad strapped on his pack and walked to the next village where he had breakfast with other peregrinos on the Way before walking back. Tomorrow is laundry day and we are planning to do some more walking. There are lots of sights to see here in Astorga and the weather is absolutely gorgeous. <br />
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The plan is to be back on foot and headed towards Santiago on Thusday morning. <br />
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Most of the waiting pilgrims were skipping all or part of the Meseta and planned to restart their walk further along the way. Our friend Francesca from Italy (who had occupied the bunk above mine in the Roncesvalles albergue) was there. She had developed tendinitis and in order to complete the required final 100km on foot within her remaining time was taking the train to Sarria. A couple from Canada was planning to go as far as Leon and from there would recommence their trek. Johan from Holland was planning to take the train all the way to Santiago. <br />
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This was Johan's second Camino. He'd walked it once before from St Jean to Finisterre - celebrating his ability to do so given that he has multiple sclerosis. This time, he'd experienced a flare up of his symptoms in Burgos and so was now on his way to Santiago by train. As we were chatting, he received a message from his wife confirming his reservation at the Parador there (luxury hotel located in a historic palace or monastery) - Dutch delight. <br />
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We hopped on our train and settled in for the ride to Madrid, changed stations in Madrid (where we also half-guiltily ate Whoppers at the station's Burger King) and caught the next train that would deliver us to Granada just before 10 pm. <br />
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An enthusiastic tour guide/taxi driver whisked us through the bustling streets of Granada pointing out the most important sights, "That restaurant has Very Good Tapas." When we arrived at our hotel, situated at the foot of the hill upon which La Alhambra sits, the desk clerk was standing on the sidewalk holding open the door for us and asking if she could help with our luggage. Two packs hardly count as luggage, so we handled our own and she got down to the cheerful business of greeting us, orienting us to our neighborhood, giving us our room keys, and our tickets for and tips on how to navigate the next day's Alhambra visit. <br />
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Exhausted and thrilled we made our way upstairs and fell into our beds. <br />
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The next morning, with rain forecast for the whole day, we headed out for what our map indicated would be a short walking tour of the old city. Maps are flat. Granada is not. It was a wonderful, winding and tiring climb with so many opportunities to photograph vistas and architectural gems that we progressed at a snail's pace. <br />
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Happily, we found a direct route down the hill for our return to the hotel, where we took a (much needed by me) rest before setting off up the hill to see the Alhambra. <br />
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Long lines and minimal signage greeted us at the gate but we managed to find our way through the entry maze only to discover that - once inside - there were even fewer helpful signs. We returned to the gate and were told that there were no maps of the complex available. We could clearly see other visitors holding maps but when we asked about those we learned that those maps came only with the purchase of the audio tour. <br />
<br />
Ah. So, we spent our first hour and a half trying to *find* the central palace and another 45 minutes sheltering from a downpour in the palace of Charles V. <br />
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Our tickets allowed us entry to the palace at 4:30 pm and our delightful hotel receptionist had warned us not to be late, "They are very strict. They will lock the gates." We were in line in plenty of time with only sprinkles of rain falling. Slowly the line began to inch forward and then, we were in. <br />
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The crowds were so large, it was difficult to get a true sense of the Alhambra's famous spaciousness and airiness; but the artistry and beauty were not wholly obscured and I began to worry that I might overload the data storage on my iPhone with all my picture taking. <br />
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An hour and a half later, we emerged out into the gardens again and slowly made our way down hill, back to the arms of the most excellent Hotel Puertas de las Granadas. <br />
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The long trip and extended walking seem to have slowed my recovery, so I've spent today mostly resting and reading - hoping to get digestion and strength back to normal soon. Dad has been a champ, finding a restaurant to make white rice for me ("off menu" and for take out), and sitting patiently or napping while I rest and gather strength. <br />
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Tomorrow we head back north. The plan is to take a train to Madrid and spend the night there. Then, the next day, another train to Astorga where we plan to spend two nights before once again strapping on our packs and walking out toward Santiago. <br />
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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpHy6WJU-XJafFsVgcVoZaWaxjSDnjczX5QyO6TVL4aRYTfPavBp1OAlucvUF5W7oo0v-3tN6AyQxpbylj3z9IjIEJ52fisZ0_7FFtRFNXXqJzr-wysKMTjWLLrSzJVmTPU4A5ImgTM9h/s640/blogger-image--1959019470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpHy6WJU-XJafFsVgcVoZaWaxjSDnjczX5QyO6TVL4aRYTfPavBp1OAlucvUF5W7oo0v-3tN6AyQxpbylj3z9IjIEJ52fisZ0_7FFtRFNXXqJzr-wysKMTjWLLrSzJVmTPU4A5ImgTM9h/s640/blogger-image--1959019470.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNQwDZKvCQAxw95cOoIUqdeyd_vQMohMKdp39Dr6oQ4t0t9OdcYWFLEqwSdiHy5ndtghH4Nro6NuiDjZgG3DiQJdz3AqzZbm-nZ7peLcAcDTg5Pv0y-TE-_R9Ztbr1dtF1T_ZAnZPnXaQ/s640/blogger-image--1779214321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNQwDZKvCQAxw95cOoIUqdeyd_vQMohMKdp39Dr6oQ4t0t9OdcYWFLEqwSdiHy5ndtghH4Nro6NuiDjZgG3DiQJdz3AqzZbm-nZ7peLcAcDTg5Pv0y-TE-_R9Ztbr1dtF1T_ZAnZPnXaQ/s640/blogger-image--1779214321.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-81535860877141572472012-09-25T00:43:00.001-07:002012-09-25T13:49:16.981-07:00To Meseta or Not To MesetaMonday was a leisurely day in Burgos. We visited the cathedral and saw the spot where El Cid is buried (his wife is there too). The cathedral is huge and thickly encrusted with decoration outside and in. The central sanctuary is surrounded by multiple small chapels constructed at various times, mainly (it appeared to me) as celebrations of-and ostentatious burial sites for-the respective Bishops who had them built. The artisanship was exquisite. <br />
<br />
In places where worship has taken place for centuries, I almost always experience a strong sense of Divine Presence. The sensation was starkly absent in this cathedral. It was as if the Divine Mystery that greets us at the heart of beauty and in places of gathered worship had abandoned this one, leaving the beautiful objects empty, the structures serving more as testaments to human commerce and ambition than to the Mysterious Divine. <br />
<br />
Perhaps it is my modern eyes that are blind to the symbols contained in the works that would evoke a deeper response had I better understanding. <br />
<br />
The other order of business for Monday was to plan the next few stages of our trip. We have reached the eastern edge of the 'meseta'- over a hundred miles of landscape that bears a remarkable resemblance to Nebraska. <br />
<br />
My need for rest gives us an excellent reason to skip much of this section of the Camino, hopping ahead by bus or train. But where should we skip to? What next town should we choose to rest in? And after that, what next? <br />
<br />
We struggled to find some place along this stretch that would be worth spending a day or two. All we could find were more churches with ornate (and somewhat gory) altarpieces, or ruins high on hills overlooking otherwise sleepy-to-the-point-of-dormant villages. <br />
<br />
We were shaking our heads in frustration when Dad said,"Linda, I'm up for anything." <br />
<br />
"Do you really mean that,Dad?" <br />
<br />
"I really mean it. Anything at all."<br />
<br />
"Want to go to Granada and visit The Alhambra?"<br />
<br />
Matching gleams in our eyes, we headed to the Burgos Tourism Office once again. The nice lady there recognized Dad with a big smile and in startled response to our request for help planning a jaunt to Granada, she said,"You do know that's a long way?". <br />
<br />
We assured her we had a map and understood the distances. She found the train schedule, directed us to the train info and ticket office and by dinner time we had train tickets for Tuesday and hotel reservations in Granada, as well as tickets to see the Alhambra on Wednesday afternoon. <br />
<br />
We are spending Tuesday traveling and will arrive in Granada about 10pm. We will spend a day in Granada (maybe two - depends on room availability). Then we'll take trains and busses north and westerly to rejoin the Camino, hopefully at Astorga, where the guidebook says we will find a building designed by the famed Spanish architect, Gaudi. <br />
<br />
Once back on the trail, the plan is to walk short distances for a few days to rebuild our strength. <br />
<br />
We will have replaced walking across the meseta with a train trip through Spain and a visit to a place I've always wanted to see and that Dad wished to but never believed he'd get to revisit. <br />
<br />
I made a little video to demonstrate our little side trip:<br />
<br />
http://youtu.be/C7489daric8<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hxFgJp1loOsBekSn6CKHsfkJnVuInGXRoQ3e3OhDtZK4KCBWAl9_AYxICrz776ZReIlhIccUqeb4lZbx6CMnOrra7CZdMPA1Hper0hgtZLiuQACgtvo1ahI1h9q6wRPS5Ml-xtuuTcD3/s640/blogger-image--928329788.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hxFgJp1loOsBekSn6CKHsfkJnVuInGXRoQ3e3OhDtZK4KCBWAl9_AYxICrz776ZReIlhIccUqeb4lZbx6CMnOrra7CZdMPA1Hper0hgtZLiuQACgtvo1ahI1h9q6wRPS5Ml-xtuuTcD3/s640/blogger-image--928329788.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7j3Cn5hPioR3P5phlbl3DsVHuPFeibt8zGWcLq-kFC6s-uVitVXSI2x9t8WxjmRNbRHNil-eZSSCkOqWB_Z-MLGTAjt6PxYSlmY3x6A1vSgB7WA9UGqC9y8tr93R7co6X3duhWJLb5hl/s640/blogger-image-276076145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7j3Cn5hPioR3P5phlbl3DsVHuPFeibt8zGWcLq-kFC6s-uVitVXSI2x9t8WxjmRNbRHNil-eZSSCkOqWB_Z-MLGTAjt6PxYSlmY3x6A1vSgB7WA9UGqC9y8tr93R7co6X3duhWJLb5hl/s640/blogger-image-276076145.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY82-8aTVjAm0k56zYtqUkdO-HabeZezw0t80VePfcBgCnqaIKWec-ybDS0WwZY9Fv9wOeSEJ8VYFPFCvBtKz_jpV3TVXuvygqCPc_rYrIoQ79lZsWzlM1ZdM1OD9q_cXCNn3_wqbS9TL/s640/blogger-image--445126195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY82-8aTVjAm0k56zYtqUkdO-HabeZezw0t80VePfcBgCnqaIKWec-ybDS0WwZY9Fv9wOeSEJ8VYFPFCvBtKz_jpV3TVXuvygqCPc_rYrIoQ79lZsWzlM1ZdM1OD9q_cXCNn3_wqbS9TL/s640/blogger-image--445126195.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM4zS6jL-57r5FBvcymrrigz1jif_FCAucGrFAJjzJ-4csD0XDJ1yNgBKsFAs7gd9M21MKnJIY928iXRaWmfaY0xPul_o7l2xcRQx4gPXFBH36N0tdeOPw09Cb1GnOgSA4qsR-riNeewD/s640/blogger-image--1115721524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM4zS6jL-57r5FBvcymrrigz1jif_FCAucGrFAJjzJ-4csD0XDJ1yNgBKsFAs7gd9M21MKnJIY928iXRaWmfaY0xPul_o7l2xcRQx4gPXFBH36N0tdeOPw09Cb1GnOgSA4qsR-riNeewD/s640/blogger-image--1115721524.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTFOcVWR58k6CtCICyx90KN8Dd6riDhiMdCVgnoTzEKbNYi7ElGct9XMAmp7hJC5gOj5tvQkP3lbZVdvIID0ph4ZVLC8TjOkHQ-OD08Nhg8ergolQbJPpzqoHNaW1jE2IprERgj6yILfF/s640/blogger-image-27994737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTFOcVWR58k6CtCICyx90KN8Dd6riDhiMdCVgnoTzEKbNYi7ElGct9XMAmp7hJC5gOj5tvQkP3lbZVdvIID0ph4ZVLC8TjOkHQ-OD08Nhg8ergolQbJPpzqoHNaW1jE2IprERgj6yILfF/s640/blogger-image-27994737.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-qIWTEG5PHjazg251czNHb_X-gy1d-53m-7PlmLQCS0CVpJa961uEGLYIW02-VIVfSSWoP58gcqtv7i7ZABBj0HSr8lcq57gvOhjSalD_k1bexWJumB_TgQyThukEhuEPIKpJi9AAY9d/s640/blogger-image-1038365527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-qIWTEG5PHjazg251czNHb_X-gy1d-53m-7PlmLQCS0CVpJa961uEGLYIW02-VIVfSSWoP58gcqtv7i7ZABBj0HSr8lcq57gvOhjSalD_k1bexWJumB_TgQyThukEhuEPIKpJi9AAY9d/s640/blogger-image-1038365527.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMU-wXEXgSh5PGExs5eIyH5d94Ieg91FyBJTdh3uGdwYNpWQWFeQlJDWcNOwryTLQ4OxW71ugMlgD5Fu-SpVtz5s_5f8TH-gQDIDwixFmkWvMsGPFzu9hJJCivpsrf3eEZm4zYNCm9pOI/s640/blogger-image--1877682089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMU-wXEXgSh5PGExs5eIyH5d94Ieg91FyBJTdh3uGdwYNpWQWFeQlJDWcNOwryTLQ4OxW71ugMlgD5Fu-SpVtz5s_5f8TH-gQDIDwixFmkWvMsGPFzu9hJJCivpsrf3eEZm4zYNCm9pOI/s640/blogger-image--1877682089.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-68633176055082289672012-09-24T01:26:00.001-07:002012-09-24T05:57:59.358-07:00Viloria de la Rioja > Belorado (and misery) > BurgosWhen last we wrote, Dad and I were in the very tiny village of Viloria de la Rioja, a cluster of ancient dwellings, neighbors, and gardens with no cafe or (so far as we could see) shop of any kind. Our hostess (hospitalera de camino), Orietta runs a small albergue, with no more than a dozen beds, in her home. Dad and I had arrived without any lunch and Orietta told us there was no place in town to find provisions. In fact, the fruit truck had come through yesterday and would not return until next week. We were resigning ourselves to the squashed granola bars in our pockets when Orietta dashed upstairs to bring each of us a banana and small apple. Perfecto. <br />
<br />
Orietta and her volunteer assistant (Ana from Brazil) cooked a huge dinner for the peregrinos sheltering together and we say around the table introducing ourselves and enjoying the bountiful meal. At the table were a Brazilian man traveling alone and happy to find another speaker of Portuguese, a 24 year old German man traveling with his mother, and another german woman traveling alone. <br />
<br />
Dad and I were first to bed. During the night I began to experience the first signs that all was not well with my digestive system. Knowing that we only had a short five mile walk ahead of us, I took my took my time getting ready and by 8:30 was convinced that the trouble had - er - passed. <br />
<br />
We had a very pleasant walk through a misty morning into Belorado, a bustling city compared to tiny Viloria de la Rioja. We sat at one of cafes on the square, shaded by massive sycamore trees, and waited for our albergue to open at noon. A brief shower sent us scurrying for shelter under the stone arcade ringing the perimeter of the plaza. There we found a sign promising that we were only 534,4km from Santiago (337.65 miles). <br />
<br />
We checked into the albergue and were able to book a room in the adjoining 'pension' -- private bedrooms with shared bathroom down the hall. <br />
<br />
We took a quick nap and set out to see what sights we could find. As we passed the old church, we could see above us in the hillside, the caves where hermits used to dwell. The old hermitage caves have been updated and now there are windows and doors embedded in the hillside, a very novel sight. <br />
<br />
We looked into the church and marveled at the opulence (again) and took pictures of the two statues of St James (St Iago - patron of the Camino). One statue portrayed him as a pilgrim, the other commemorated his martyrdom by showing him holding his haloed (severed) head in his arms. <br />
<br />
We then strolled down to the Oficina de Turismo to see about a wifi connection (none at our albergue). We were given the password and told that the office was about to close for siesta. To actually use the wifi, we would need to return after they reopened at 5 pm. <br />
<br />
Another leisurely afternoon in a cafe on the plaza. I wasn't feeling hungry and just had a small pastry with water. At the cafe, we visited with a couple from Washington D.C. - her second Camino and her husband's first. <br />
<br />
When the Turismo opened again Dad and I went over and I text-chatted with Ric while Dad looked at the extensive exhibits. Then we sat on a bench just outside the door and Dad called Mom using the Skype connection on my phone. Amazing technology. <br />
<br />
I was feeling ready for another nap and Dad was, as always, accommodating - so back to our room we went. When dinner time rolled around, I found I still was not hungry and opted to stay in bed while Dad went off to dinner. <br />
<br />
You can see where this going. <br />
<br />
By three a.m. I was full on sick with stomach-intestinal distress. I crawled back to bed and, in the morning, let Dad know that we were going to need to spend another day in Belorado. <br />
<br />
As it happened, I was not the only stricken pilgrim. The farmacia was once again consulted. Imodium and electrolyte powder (to mix into my water) were obtained; and I proceeded to sleep away Saturday. <br />
<br />
On Sunday, we took the bus to Burgos - the city where El Cid was born and is buried. I was already on the mend but still needing rest, so we checked into a hotel for two nights. I had tea and dry toast for dinner and more of the same for breakfast. <br />
<br />
All seems to be well; and now it is just a matter of regaining my strength before we set out again on foot. We are shifting into "tourist" mode for the next few days, scoping out places along the Camino with interesting sights and planning to travel by bus and car until I'm once again eating full meals and confident I can walk far enough to trek from town to town without assistance. <br />
<br />
While this has been an effective weight loss regimen, I do not recommend it! <br />
<br />
It is now Monday morning and we've been out briefly for my first glimpse of Burgos. I've posted pictures of Orietta's albergue, some of the sights in Belorado, and of the statue of El Cid and of a bridge over the river that runs through Burgos. More to come. <br />
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We are glad for the cloud cover as most of the trails have been without shade and would have been very tough if the sun was out. <br />
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Out of Najera, we walked 15.1km (about nine miles) to Ciruena (there should be a tilde over that 'n'). It was a fairly steep climb into Ciruena and the city fathers must have been peregrinos because at the top of the hill, just at the city limit, they provide a resting place where weary pilgrims can put their feet up. I took a photo of a pair of German peregrinos with whom we've shared the road for many days. <br />
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From Cireuna, we took a short taxi ride into Santo Domingo de la Calzada. Once again, we arrived into a citywide fiesta. This was the fiesta of Gracias and St Jeronimo Hermosilla. <br />
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We visited the oficina de turismo and secured a room in the hospederia run by Cistercian nuns. As we made our way through the streets we ran into several pilgrim friends who had arrived before us. The lovely and kind Louise from Cork in Ireland led us to our hospederia where we checked in and did the ritual chores (shower and hand wash clothes). <br />
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Out on the streets again, we worked our way toward the restaurante recommended for lunch. Marching bands, parades with dancing children (playing castanets) and ambling dignitaries, blocked streets and, once we were seated near a second story window, serenaded our meal. <br />
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After lunch we joined the rest of the city in siesta. We woke again about 5 pm. At 6:30 we wandered into the church adjoining the abbey to listen to the nuns sing vespers. Then we were back outside wandering in search of dinner. Hmm, perhaps I should re-name this blog: Walk, Sleep, Eat. <br />
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We ran into Rick from San Mateo and Mike from Menlo Park who had been at the albergue in Orisson on our first night. They were thrilled to see Harold from Houston and the four of us found a nice little restaurant where we enjoyed huevos with jamon and pimientos (peppers) and lively conversation. <br />
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Dad and I were back to our room with heads on pillows by 9:30. At 11:00 pm, the fireworks started. I sat up in bed, pulled back the curtain and watched the show from our window. Happily, it was not a long show and signaled the end of the partying. The streets below were quiet by 11:30 and I fell back to sleep easily. <br />
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This morning we left Santa Domingo early and walked through a series of tiny villages crossing into the region of Spain called Castilla. Let me just say that the Castillians want to be sure you know when you enter their province. They provide a HUGE signpost trail-side with a map showing the portion of the way that lies in Castilla. (see photo) <br />
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As we passed through the villages, there were places set out just for weary pilgrims to rest and have a cup of water. In one, I stepped into the church (every village has a church) and was amazed at the opulence of the altar and the organ. <br />
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We stopped at a cafe to visit with a few other pilgrim friends (including Elmarie from Australia). Then, we planted our walking sticks to lift ourselves out of the chairs and followed the yellow brick road (literally- see the photo) on into Viloria de la Rioja where we are stopped for the night. <br />
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When we arrived at the albergue, we found two young women resting on its terrace. They are pilgrims from South Korea. Dad told the that he had been in Korea 60 years ago and they both nodded, bowed and said, "We respect you. Thank you." Then one of them went to her pack and came back with a small beaded charm which she set in front of Dad saying, "This is my gift to you. The symbol is Korean for happiness, good fortune, and wealth." <br />
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They asked why we were on the Camino and we told our story again. Dad asked them why they were on camino. One said she didn't know. The other said that she had many prayers for family and for a friend with cancer. She also said that she was unmarried and hoped to find a husband and make a family. Dad told her he hoped so too and that, as it happens, today is the day, 65 years ago, that he met his wife. I think we all took it as an auspicious sign. With much laughter and mutual picture-taking the two young women went on their way. <br />
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Tomorrow we plan to walk to Belorado - a short walk (only about 5 miles). By Sunday, we expect to be in Burgos, the city where El Cid is buried. Buses will be involved in part of this next stage in order to avoid a stretch with several steep ascents and descents and no towns for rest stops. <br />
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We are both healthy and our feet are doing well. Tomorrow is the International Day of Peace (and Ric's birthday - happy birthday sweetheart!). <br />
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video of parades: http://youtu.be/clNRUDl_KWE<br />
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http://youtu.be/zu0VhnnEGmM<br />
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For the last two days, paella has been on offer for the pilgrims menu and we've been loving it. <br />
<br />
We had planned to walk 7km today, from Navarette to Ventosa and then go on to Najera tomorrow. Plans on the Camino, however, are ephemeral at best. We found ourselves on the road at 6:30 a.m. which put us in Ventosa at 8:30 - far too early to stop for the day. So, we had some pan chocolat for breakfast and hit the trail towards Najera (10km further away). <br />
<br />
Along the way, we passed a stone beehive shaped building with an information sign telling the story of how the pilgrim, Roland (you know, Charlemagne's pal), killed the giant Ferragut - who is reported to have been nine feet tall with "a nose span of length and strength of four men". Wow. That must have been one. strong. nose. In some versions of the tale, the mighty schnozz was felled by a stone from Roland's slingshot. The version we were offered today tells a different tale of a death thrust through the giant's navel (see photo). <br />
<br />
While we were sitting and contemplating noses and navels, one of Dad's fans came by and asked if she could take our picture. We said yes and after she took her photo, she offered to take one of Dad and me with my phone. I can't believe I haven't asked someone to do that sooner! Photo is in the mix below. <br />
<br />
We arrived in Najera just before noon and were met by other newly arrived pilgrims clutching their cell phones and telling a woeful tale. Today is a fiesta day in Najera and, they told us, all rooms were taken in the whole town. The hotels were "complet". <br />
<br />
Dad and I decided to check with the oficina de turismo to see if they could find us anything and, if not, if they could book us someplace in the next town (and we'd take a bus). <br />
<br />
There were signs indicating the way to the Turismo, but the way was far from clear. Happily, a lovely and kind teenaged Spanish girl chose to lead us there (rather than try to explain directions). The very nice lady at the Turismo made one quick call and we had a room with en suite bath only two minutes walk away. <br />
<br />
We took baths and put on our last clean clothes. It was 1:30 -time to go get lunch before everything closed for siesta (2:30-5:00 usually). <br />
<br />
When we got to the lobby, we asked if there was a laundry service and, miracle of modern civilization, there WAS! Up in the ascensor to stuff our laundry in a bag. Down again to hand it to our wonderful hostess and then out into a cool afternoon to find paella, grilled pork ribs (with the ubiquitous papa fritas) and flan (for me) ice cream (for Dad). <br />
<br />
Back to the room we went for our own siesta, then out into Najera for an hour of sight seeing. We visited the Monestario Santa Maria la Real (a lovely church and cloister built onto a cave in the hillside) and the Museo Najerillense (where artifacts from excavations near Najera are on display including roman and Neolithic pieces). <br />
<br />
We made our way back to the room to find our laundry done. Ahhhh. <br />
<br />
Dad says we've gone 20% of the way. Only 370 miles to go!<br />
<br />
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Marching bands and other fascinating parades. <br />
<br />
http://youtu.be/guBzjAjHK08<br />
<br />
We were disappointed to discover that our hotel had no laundry service on Sundays. Ah, the trials of pilgrimage. Laundry had to wait. We strolled around and watched people fiesta then went early to bed. <br />
<br />
We wound our way out of Logrono at 7:15 this morning. It was tricky because it was not as well marked as other cities and towns have been. We found the way in spite of ample opportunity for confusion and lengthened our strides as we walked through parkland around the edge of a lake. As we left the park we came to open country covered with vineyards. it is harvest time and we stopped to watch a load of freshly picked grapes being carried by fork-lift to the end of a row and set down on the red earth. a pair of Korean pilgrims also stopped to take a picture. The driver of the lift saw us and indicated that we could have some. We all hesitated, unsure we'd understood his gesture correctly. He waved us towards the grapes again and opened the window of his cab to shout, "Buen Camino!" Beautiful, juicy grapes, just picked, their flavor foreshadowing the wine they'll be used to make = a perfect mid-morning snack. <br />
<br />
As we came to the outskirts of Navarette, we passed the ruins of a pilgrim hostel built in the 1100's. Passing it slowly, on weary feet, looking at the outlines of the ancient entryway and rooms, gave a sense of how many pilgrims over the centuries have walked and rested together along the Camino. <br />
<br />
We arrived at the albergue by 11:00 a.m. having walked about nine miles. It is a new one that opened last year and feels like luxury accommodations with bunks tall enough so those on lower bunks can sit up in bed! We took showers and did laundry (I wrung water out of the clothes while Dad leant out the window to hang them on the line). <br />
<br />
Chores done,we headed in the direction of the church knowing that the square (and center of activity) would be nearby. We arrived at the church just after morning mass ended. The spectacular altar was still lit. The wall of gold soared to a high, gothic arched ceiling. As we sat amazed, the lights switched off, leaving only the statue of the Virgin and Child lit in the low center - like a nightlight in the grey stone gloom. <br />
<br />
Out into the Spanish sunlight and wandering downhill we found "Casa de Comida Begonia Antonio", and had our first TAPAS. We were joined by a French couple we met yesterday on the way to Logrono. We compared notes about where we all were staying. She laughed and said she is doing the Camino of Hotels. <br />
<br />
Back at the albergue, beds are beginning to fill and a line has formed for the shower. Once again, I hear someone meeting Dad, "You're Harold from Houston? I've heard about you!" It's a kick. An Australian who'd just been sharing his woes of tendinitis, looks up from his laptop and announces, "I've just posted 'There's an 82 year old gentleman from Texas walking the Camino; so I'll just stop my b----ing.'"<br />
<br />
We're taking a quick nap then we'll go out again, sit in a cafe and visit with out fellow peregrinos … maybe attend the pilgrims mass at 8 pm. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-j-KSWBnoEziX10UwcAGpzOp-FKMnBBAx4Of7ii_flWKinelNUAWAxcelEHrGKekL7rrateBYO7eUUHrGWi5AlfHza6MKPFT0V1XFVJA56KqSuwRgwLEUAwZf3Ptt1fElw7xzcHvU3tb/s640/blogger-image--1177984837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-j-KSWBnoEziX10UwcAGpzOp-FKMnBBAx4Of7ii_flWKinelNUAWAxcelEHrGKekL7rrateBYO7eUUHrGWi5AlfHza6MKPFT0V1XFVJA56KqSuwRgwLEUAwZf3Ptt1fElw7xzcHvU3tb/s640/blogger-image--1177984837.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYI47F3r5c5CJmoMVRnJaXCVvIjR2eoTKdfNZg2-Jmi_fP11AYPn6rrmK05dOYf7QVz7sMhvlPtOUVV0p3t8LW3UDb7YULij1hV3OHz4QrTYbbcUI0F3B2d_x7Fc_ZO2RTX_y8UMkLiMuh/s640/blogger-image--1843857859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrB2b-45t8Zo80kctYWhR4FCiuH42UtmgglBRDTBFg1FxnJJseDAqSDBbCP4kfiuU-owNCRGHtKdmyZSH8WEOqHNvh6OQqzKLTJzlmnD-W2xkaLo57o8qx0Qqpupu_ZgrdfO2srUhRHjt/s640/blogger-image--907299825.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-27239436371909130482012-09-15T08:57:00.001-07:002012-09-16T01:00:15.140-07:00Puente la Reina > Estella > Los ArcosEarly Friday morning, we left Puente la Reina, a town that takes its name from the romanesque bridge built on the queen's command in medieval times to allow pilgrims safe passage. We glanced back to take a photo of the still sleeping village at dawn and then set out for Estella. <br />
<br />
The path was hilly but rarely steep and at many times we found ourselves walking on the old Roman built road or crossing a Roman bridge. Those Romans built things to last. We also are learning that it is not only the paths between towns that are steep. You don't just pass through a Spanish town, you climb the town. (see photos)<br />
<br />
In Lorca, about 7.5 miles into the day's walk, we stopped for a quick break at a cafe. As we crossed through the town square on our way out of town, we passed a gathering crowd of people wearing matching t-shirts and carrying musical instruments. A stage was set up in the square and they appeared to be preparing for a town fiesta. As we turned onto the Camino path we heard the band strike up and begin to march. They were marching our direction so Dad and I ducked into an alley to let them pass, then we marched along behind them until their path and ours diverged. <br />
<br />
We paused at the foot of a roman bridge to eat our 'bocadillas' (sandwiches bought at the local cafe early in the morning) for lunch; and made our weary way into Estella. <br />
<br />
The end of day ritual of finding a bed again required an uphill climb. We were fortunate to get two of the last available bunks that night. A few minutes after we collapsed on our bunks, a pilgrim came in with a mattress to put on the floor as there were no more beds in the albergue. <br />
<br />
We ate the 'Pilgrim Menu' (salad or pasta to start, choice of fish, pork, or chicken with french fries as second course, and yogurt, fruit salad, or ice cream to finish), then wobbled on sore feet back up the hill to bed. <br />
<br />
Up at 5 am, packing in the dark because other pilgrims were still asleep. A quick breakfast of bread, butter and jam, a stop at the panaderia for the day's bocadillas, and we were off again by 7:30. <br />
<br />
The trek to Los Arcos was the gentlest slope and least rocky we've had so far. The second half of the 14 mile day, however, was without shade and without passing through any towns. We sheltered in the shadow of a tall stack of hay where we joined three Frenchmen who were having their lunch there as well. <br />
<br />
We had made good time and arrived at the edge of Los Arcos at about 2:30 pm. <br />
<br />
Walking into a Spanish town mid-afternoon feels like an old western film. The streets are deserted. All is silent except for the sound of the wind. Dust devils kicking up are the only movement one sees. <br />
<br />
We were parched from the long walk across the sun's anvil and were greatly relieved to find a small shaded alcove at the very edge of town. There were benches to rest on and vending machines with ice cold drinks. Dad had a coke and I had water. Cool, clear water. <br />
<br />
After the last two days' push to find beds, we decided to book into a hotel in Los Arcos. We have enjoyed the private bathroom. I took a shower and two baths. Bliss. <br />
<br />
We went downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant and found ourselves in an episode of Fawltey Towers. The waiter arrived at our table to announce,"There is problema en cocina. Only no chicken." Confusion reigned for nearly 10 minutes while Dad, I and a nice Irish lady named Evelyn tried to communicate with this ranting Spaniard and his resignedly calm female co-worker, his voice growing ever louder and more emphatic, she kneeling between me and Evelyn trying to whisper and point at menu items to confirm whether they were available and WHAT exactly they contained. In the end, we each managed to order and then just sat and laughed until tears were streaming.<br />
<br />
Meal accomplished, Dad and I turned in and slept well. Today is Sunday. the forecast is for temperatures in the 90's and the trail has two very steep and treacherous descents with no place for shade or water; so, we've decided to travel this section by bus to Logrono. We'll have another night in a hotel there then set out in foot again on Monday morning. <br />
<br />
I've prevailed upon Dad to do shorter distances each day for the next week- to give me time to build more strength and get back to 100% health. <br />
<br />
Love to all. Hasta mañana. <br />
<br />
P.S. Looking back at the photos I see that I forgot to mention the fountain that offered a choice - water or wine. As we were passing it at 8 a.m. Dad and I opted to take only a photo. <br />
<br />
Also, the picture of my pack was taken after our climb in the rain - to show the mud that we've accumulated. <br />
<br />
P.P.S. The poodle is one of the pilgrims on the Camino. I'm told his name is Einstein. He accompanies a young man whom we have not met. <br />
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After we left the city behind, the sun rose and the day's climb began. In the distance, we could see a line of wind turbines along a ridge. a light rain began to fall. <br />
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We kept climbing, the grade getting gradually steeper and the rain coming and going. Sun would break through while rain would be moving in on the next wind. As we emerged from a sheltered lane, the vista opened up and we could just see the beginning of a rainbow. As we stood there, it grew stronger and developed into a full arch. <br />
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The trail grew rocky and Dad and I were glad we'd stopped into a sporting goods store in Pamplona and purchased another pair of walking sticks. Now, each of us has two sticks giving us improved balance and shifting some of the load off our knees on the steeps. <br />
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We were climbing up to the ridge with the windmills and, as you might expect, the wind picked up and kept us cool. <br />
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We arrived at the peak - called 'the point of pardon' because in earlier days, pilgrims who reached this peak and were unable to go on, were given a pardon from finishing and granted their compostela. As it happened, while we were standing on the peak admiring the sculpture there (a metal silhouette of a line of pilgrims) some people arrived from below with the news that a woman had broken a leg on the trail. Other pilgrims had the necessary phones and language skills to call for help. we are told that the EMTs arrived about 15 minutes later. Apparently, she was someone who attempted the walk without being fit. (A pilgrims staying at the albergue with us tonight is a doctor and was there on the peak at the time). <br />
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We, in the meantime had headed downhill -very cautiously. This descent, we decided, was a mere class 4. It only lasted about mile and a half. Then we had relatively level going all the way into Puenta la Reina. <br />
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We arrved at about 4 pm- nearly ten hours after we started put <br />
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Arriving in town at about 4 pm means that there are no more spaces at the first albergues you come to. Today, the albergue with space was on the other side of town and we were worried they would fill up before we arrived; so we pushed on as fast as I could go. We arrived to find that the albergue was at the top of a steep hill. <br />
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I was lagging and other pilgrims were coming along behind. I could go no faster and within two minutes found myself watching as Dad left me in his dust. He trekked up the hill as if the hike was just beginning. When I dragged myself to the door 15 minutes behind, a grinning German couple informed me, "Your fasser hass already arrieft". <br />
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Later, as I was leaving the showers, a woman stopped me to ask if I was Linda. When I answered in the affirmative, she said, "I've heard a lot about you. you and your father are famous on the Camino."<br />
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Quelle surprise. <br />
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Again, photos cannot be posted in order. you have to guess where each one fits in the story. <br />
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It tells of the very first portion of our walk (from St Jean Pied de Port >Zubiri>Pamplona). To read it in order, it goes between "1 a.m in Madrid" and "A few more photos". <br />
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When last we had wifi, Dad and I were leaving Madrid by train to Pamplona and from there by bus to St Jean Pied de Port in France. We arrived fairly late in the day and the town was full to bursting with eager to begin pilgrims. we were turned away from one hostel with a recommendation to try #15. so off we went, down the hill. At #15 Rue de Castille, we knocked, then opened the door onto a hallway that, for all intents and purposes looked like a private home. We walked down the hall to the back of the house and, seeing no one, turned to head back out. As we passed by it, a door to a kitchen opened and a lady (in her 70's?) asked if we were looking for a place to stay. She had one room left. We wanted to be sure there were two beds and in the course of that conversation (in a mix of French, Spanish, and English) she realized that we were father and daughter. We got a reaction that we've now come to expect-surprise and delight mixed with a measure of relief. (How very European to not assume anything until told.). <br />
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The next -inevitable - question was "How many years has your father?". And when I told her, 82, she threw up her hands and said, "Ay! Que guapo!" Which means, roughly, "he looks great!" But her admiration did not stop there. She continued to exclaim over Dad's beauty as she led us up 3 flights of ancient stairs to our (very nice) room. There she stayed with one hand on Dad's arm the whole time, chattering about how much she loves the US and how gorgeous he is. There was kissing too (on the cheek). I was starting to worry that things might be getting out of hand, but she eventually left with our payment for the room in hand. <br />
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Her name, it turns out, is Maria Camino. And the house she lives in and runs as a hostel for pilgrims was bought for her by her husband of 70 years with the money he earned in the 7 years he worked as a shepherd in Nevada. She showed us a photo of him standing in the foreground with his border collie and the flock behind him. <br />
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we walked out the door of #15 at about 8 a. m. on Sunday, and started up into the mountains. The day was warm and grew warmer. The hike was steep and grew steeper, until even the Germans were commenting on the difficulty. <br />
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At one point, we passed a young woman carrying her 11 month old daughter in a sling and accompanied by the baby's teenage uncle. Later, they caught up with us and we all stopped to meet, greet, and take photos of what are likely the youngest and oldest pilgrims on the walk at present. <br />
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We continued uphill until we reached Orrisson. We had walked five miles and it had taken nearly 5 hours. We stopped at the albergue (al-BEAR-gay) in Orrisson and asked if they had room for us to stay. All the beds were taken, but they had one tent left. It was the one with no mattresses, just two foam mats and two blankets. We took it gladly. <br />
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At dinner that night, everyone took turns introducing themselves, saying where they were from, and any other detail of importance. As you might expect, everyone wanted to know - and then was amazed to learn - Dad's age. <br />
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The next morning as we gathered over coffee and were preparing to set off again, heading further up, people kept commenting on what an inspiration it is to have dad on the Camino- to see him not only vital and engaged, but also vigorous and fit. <br />
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We were on the way to Roncesvalles. Up was steep, but never as steep as the day before. We passed sheep herds grazing unfenced, beautiful vistas, and many landmarks such as the shrine to Mary and the baby Jesus. We felt great to reach the top of the pass and meet a 37 yr old Brazilian who, upon learning Dad's age, grinned hugely and proclaimed himself ashamed of feeling tired in the presence of Harold. Then he asked if I would take a picture with his camera of him and Dad. The Norwegian lady wanted her photo with him too. Celebrity Dad. <br />
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That was the peak. It was the descent that nearly killed us all. It began with a downhill stretch covered in loose rock. and so steep that people were walking down it sideways, like crabs. We became connoisseurs of rocky-steeps and began classifying various stretches as if they were rapids. The first stretch was Class 5 rapids. After that we were grateful to encounter Class 3 or under! <br />
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At about 4:30 pm we arrived in Roncesvalles and were given our bunk numbers for the night. Happily, we were each given lower bunks, so the midnight toilet visits did not involve climbing ladders (or unzipping tents, for that matter). A hot shower, a hot meal (at La Posada - in case you've seen The Way) and we stumbled off to bed. <br />
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lights on at 6 am and hiking by 7:30. We made good time and felt great, even though it was another day of steep descents. The morning descents were smooth trails, but at lunch we learned that the afternoon would be a steep climb followed by an extended and treacherous Class 5 rocky descent. I have been feeling a little under the weather so while we were stopped for lunch in a little cafe, Dad suggested we call a taxi to drive us the last 10km to Zubiri. . . Deal. <br />
<br />
And so, we find ourselves in Hostelria Zubiri (a hotel) with an en suite bathroom - both tub and shower. We've washed our clothes, hung them to dry on the terrace, and had our pilgrim meal. Dad is already asleep and I'm only awake because wifi allows pictures to upload for the blog. <br />
<br />
Tomorrow, we plan to catch another taxi and spend the day resting in Pamplona so that I can get back to full strength and start keeping up with Dad again! <br />
<br />
Zubiri tonight, Pamplona tomorrow (again - having been through on our way to the start). <br />
<br />
All is well. We are loving it all. My feet H. U. R. T. = ) The photos are all out of order. The phone app won't let me post them in order. Sorry. <br />
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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixen_NL5jhgKc4RoZlaMtosIrGn_ZTfi12hA5-N_ZuYEb2VUpgx-UnSyW-Qn56TVMPhSW9F8IMCUqc_UPcIVe6qmNjnFNdbrDJjpBuAt3Z2_Z-sll9sp6NDzqacvrMfhZ3Ka5Yg9vn4fPn/s640/blogger-image-1767894984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixen_NL5jhgKc4RoZlaMtosIrGn_ZTfi12hA5-N_ZuYEb2VUpgx-UnSyW-Qn56TVMPhSW9F8IMCUqc_UPcIVe6qmNjnFNdbrDJjpBuAt3Z2_Z-sll9sp6NDzqacvrMfhZ3Ka5Yg9vn4fPn/s640/blogger-image-1767894984.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-33653910587937052752012-09-07T16:34:00.001-07:002012-09-08T01:45:36.432-07:001 a. m. in Madriddad and I arrived in Madrid about 20 hours after leaving Houston. had a little fun in Heathrow when we discovered that while I was seated in 18A and Dad was in 18B, we were actually booked on different flights from Heathrow to Madrid! So, I got to Spain a few hours before Dad. (He had some adventures of his own when two people on his Madrid flight failed to show up. the airline had to pull their luggage and then, when their travel companions who HAD shown up decided not go without the missing pair, there was another round of baggage pulling with the added fun of a on board search of the area where the second pair had been seated. All for safety's sake.) <br />
<br />
When at last we were both I Madrid we set off for the hostel where we had reservations for the night. After a bit of extra practice carrying our packs back and forth across busy downtown streets, we found the hostel and climbed the stairs to learn that they'd run out of room at that location, and had arranged accommodation for us just "a short five minute walk away" The glance that Dad and I exchanged on hearing this must have spoken volumes because we found ourselves being accompanied by a kind Romanian member of the hostel's staff (See pictures I took of him carrying my pack for me. Dad insisted on carrying his own.)<br />
<br />
We got settled in at the new location and went out in search of our first real meal since Fuddrucker's in Houston on Thursday afternoon. Happily, there is a delightful place immediately across the narrow cobblestone street from our hostel. It is a retro-60's-hip vintage spot run by enthusiastic (and talented) young people. We ate delicious bocadillas (sandwiches with ham and egg omlettes as filling) with lovely salads and, my staple sustenance, French fries. There is almost nothing that French fries cannot cure (in my opinion).<br />
<br />
Tomorrow (actually, later today) we will catch a train to Pamplona, then a bus to St Jean Pied de Port where our pilgrimage 'officially' will begin. <br />
<br />
I've already lost track of what day it is. <br />
<br />
So many details are missing here-because I'm typing on an iPhone, and there are limits to the fun when typing with one fingertip. <br />
<br />
We are here. We are well. We are having a blast. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjk4EfrVnYwihJjDBaL527SayrmN1g_AeC6-ELbIAPcf39_KVAbeMA_8shlxVnwdADS8P_hFHYZ_-h_idwSAlE3E36wcnBaNHcgEy8Q71duSe5SzI4dHo0-ZWNo8C6Y_U-kQZfsKvfQ-8/s640/blogger-image--1068518705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjk4EfrVnYwihJjDBaL527SayrmN1g_AeC6-ELbIAPcf39_KVAbeMA_8shlxVnwdADS8P_hFHYZ_-h_idwSAlE3E36wcnBaNHcgEy8Q71duSe5SzI4dHo0-ZWNo8C6Y_U-kQZfsKvfQ-8/s640/blogger-image--1068518705.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-a9VhWOQo4ULmYweBeO4TW8gWm6HdwF1gdvPSNfJWyRdY_vIQPchVFMBA-D_jv1OgoISqF8oZCVda-wm6HdMdz6GeDsRNrEUtrtLs2i3cL8Y5CyPT4BrbhVGQPENDSRibD_6pw4Q2Z5L/s640/blogger-image--663686859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-a9VhWOQo4ULmYweBeO4TW8gWm6HdwF1gdvPSNfJWyRdY_vIQPchVFMBA-D_jv1OgoISqF8oZCVda-wm6HdMdz6GeDsRNrEUtrtLs2i3cL8Y5CyPT4BrbhVGQPENDSRibD_6pw4Q2Z5L/s640/blogger-image--663686859.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F8cMEqZsNHSqZWHtj9z5QAQvqmrbHvMBnVKQHq9r7zx8T2C5Xauwy-w8kPHj6z_MhUb-4etgRR9XYIDVlJT_xQCDjML8GCHBxjl1lUQeS_eFQUVJRiHfvTcP_nMddy5sudgJu21s667O/s640/blogger-image-1825578430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F8cMEqZsNHSqZWHtj9z5QAQvqmrbHvMBnVKQHq9r7zx8T2C5Xauwy-w8kPHj6z_MhUb-4etgRR9XYIDVlJT_xQCDjML8GCHBxjl1lUQeS_eFQUVJRiHfvTcP_nMddy5sudgJu21s667O/s640/blogger-image-1825578430.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArFmqQYfJYFMegoWABibqTIzb1Pc7bkarv2HRsr6dEILrOhtOnA4UO_bl0yN6rwzz7Duo5NG5GCc4GVU19mcsSF6D5UXSHPzmLTzI7t3SLNhcrGqywo2kOqNf5O_3PyraKMB7OV1Lerhg/s640/blogger-image-51686962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArFmqQYfJYFMegoWABibqTIzb1Pc7bkarv2HRsr6dEILrOhtOnA4UO_bl0yN6rwzz7Duo5NG5GCc4GVU19mcsSF6D5UXSHPzmLTzI7t3SLNhcrGqywo2kOqNf5O_3PyraKMB7OV1Lerhg/s640/blogger-image-51686962.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmiPiI86fxXDkmwajpmbtEl2DkA8QxiX0qyr_DWeBlobWz13G_p2P1IC2vE8-JUnYk4N-qNHtXBGrMXoMdnekSClYQZvDbBLDFwvmL-H1IxKIOlFcs40H_UtmK42fbwo_fHGOTQMVXbwz/s640/blogger-image-450896608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmiPiI86fxXDkmwajpmbtEl2DkA8QxiX0qyr_DWeBlobWz13G_p2P1IC2vE8-JUnYk4N-qNHtXBGrMXoMdnekSClYQZvDbBLDFwvmL-H1IxKIOlFcs40H_UtmK42fbwo_fHGOTQMVXbwz/s640/blogger-image-450896608.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-22927914057623818102012-09-05T07:26:00.003-07:002012-09-06T09:20:46.663-07:00It requires more than a day's devotion . . .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhClsqdxSY8VcyiV1Nae8ia3GnJsMDdIZX7b3mR4rNmyD0xNKtD55J7HIKFKq9fyEl9fTh4athWranmGcCOZozY7RakLEMtrBvNiUJg1HX5v1APcVDxh_y3DSP2izFxiDsAZyv51T5xwakY/s1600/6a00d8346d981e69e20120a8baf369970b-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhClsqdxSY8VcyiV1Nae8ia3GnJsMDdIZX7b3mR4rNmyD0xNKtD55J7HIKFKq9fyEl9fTh4athWranmGcCOZozY7RakLEMtrBvNiUJg1HX5v1APcVDxh_y3DSP2izFxiDsAZyv51T5xwakY/s320/6a00d8346d981e69e20120a8baf369970b-800wi.jpg" width="240" /></a>In <i>Life Without Principle</i>, Thoreau wrote<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"It requires more than a day's devotion to know and to possess the wealth of a day.... Really to see the sun rise or go down every day, so to relate ourselves to a universal fact, would preserve us sane forever."</span></i><br />
<br />
Today, I'm stepping out the front door and setting my feet on the pilgrim path. More than a day's devotion. I'm on my way to Houston to meet up with Dad, then - tomorrow - he and I will fly to Spain. We will make our way to the start of the Camino by way of Madrid > Pamplona and expect to be walking by Sunday.<br />
<br />
Together, we'll see the sun rise and go down every day for 500 miles.<br />
<br />
From SFO to Houston, I'm carrying my pack and what I've come to think of as my "civilization bag" (the laptop, cosmetics, 'normal' clothes). I'll leave the civilization bag in Houston. Yes. I see the figurative as well as the practical meaning.<br />
<br />
I'm scared.<br />
<br />
<br />
I turn once again to John O'Donohue:<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">May my mind come alive today</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To the invisible geography </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That invites me to new fronteirs</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To break the dead shell of yesterdays</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To risk being disturbed and changed.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">May I have the courage today</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To live the life that I would love,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To postpone my dreams no longer</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But do at last what I came here for</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And waste my heart on fear no more.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(from, A Morning Offering - from To Bless The Space Between Us)</span></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-19978281646512146712012-09-02T17:26:00.004-07:002012-09-02T17:26:51.412-07:00To Bless The Going Forth
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Excerpt from "FOR THE TRAVELLER" </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">by John O'Donohue - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0385522274?tag=joodo-20" target="_blank">To Bless The Space Between Us</a> (<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Benedictus-A-Book-Of-Blessings/dp/0593058623/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1346630466&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Benedictus</a> in the U.K.)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Every time you leave home, </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Another road takes you</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Into a world you were never in,<br /> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">When you travel, </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">A new silence</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Goes with you, </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">And if you listen,</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">You will hear </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">What your heart would</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Love to say.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">A journey can become a sacred thing:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Make sure, before you go, </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">To take the time</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">To bless your going forth,</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">To free your heart of ballast</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">So that the compass of your soul</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Might direct you towards</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">The territories of spirit</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Where you will discover</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">More of your hidden life;</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">And the urgencies </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">That deserve to claim you.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">May you travel in an awakened way,</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Gathered wisely into your inner ground;</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">That you may not waste the invitations</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Which wait along the way to transform you.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">May you travel safely, arrive
refreshed</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">And live your time away to its fullest;</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">Return home, more enriched, and free</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;">To balance the gift of days which call you.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><i>My friend, Annabelle, came over today. We went down to the beach and she performed a blessing ceremony for my Camino. I am deeply moved and grateful for her caring and the blessing.</i></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><i>love, Lindaa</i></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-49380962081477687812012-08-29T16:12:00.001-07:002012-08-29T18:55:41.434-07:00How We Come To Be Walking the Camino: Harold Tells the Story<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On February 21, 2012, I went to my home mailbox and was surprised to find a Netflix DVD entitled "The Way" starring Martin Sheen. I had not heard of the movie nor did I order it. I read the blurb on the envelope and it appeared to be about hiking. <br /></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.damaris.org/cw/posters/The_Way_Quad_3_LR.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.damaris.org/cw/posters/The_Way_Quad_3_LR.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Since Linda and I take a hiking vacation every two or three years, I assumed she had the movie sent to me so I called to thank her. Linda said she had not heard of the movie and did not send it. So far, I have been unable to get anyone to confess to having sent it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I watched the movie and discovered it was about a man walking the Camino de Santiago carrying the ashes of his son who had started his own pilgrimage but died on the first day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had never heard of the Camino de Santiago. I quickly researched it online. I then called Linda to tell her to watch this excellent movie and told her what I had discovered about the Camino de Santiago. I told her that St. James was the patron saint of Spain, that his symbol was the scallop shell, and that all the pilgrims who make the 500 mile pilgrimage carry a scallop shell visible somewhere on their person to indicate that they are pilgrims.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Linda said, "Dad, you do know that in our family coat of arms there are three scallop shells don't you?" </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"No, tell me about them." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-pemrYKiljOBETIJGXbgoO13B_OJpa9ayd1CLx1hTXiSH11U5eiPVSlL7r1JMkO019hrJqb4tISWziGV5aGsaYZxz1kmrDM1iN8teZCKGwqPaOB2WVaDoXOMmQD019ABi3xOhzFXnOM/s1600/GRAHAM-FAMILY-CREST.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-pemrYKiljOBETIJGXbgoO13B_OJpa9ayd1CLx1hTXiSH11U5eiPVSlL7r1JMkO019hrJqb4tISWziGV5aGsaYZxz1kmrDM1iN8teZCKGwqPaOB2WVaDoXOMmQD019ABi3xOhzFXnOM/s320/GRAHAM-FAMILY-CREST.jpg" width="249" /></a> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Linda said, "During medieval times, three Graham knights made this pilgrimage and that is why the scallop shells were included in our coat of arms." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Maybe I should make this pilgrimage," I said. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Dad, its more than that." (Linda's husband, Ric, is of Spanish descent.) "Do you know where Ric's family is from?" </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Not a clue." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She told me, "From Galicia - where the cathedral that is at the end of the pilgrimage and that holds the relics of St. James is located." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Maybe we both need to make this pilgrimage." I answered.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I think so."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"When do we leave?" I asked.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We each began to try to get into condition to make the pilgrimage. We leave Houston on September 6, 2012.</span></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6905448751717025510.post-33179135317854750202012-08-23T09:52:00.001-07:002012-08-23T10:11:14.074-07:00A Great Moment Knocks on the Door of Your Heart<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTBTejqIlrPPW8IBuuDNucBrkydUcsoUBaLWTdnzg7yCHIqeG4pXW-4mCOtlhX6n-bHbiibhY00UhvajSXkdQBb2oAUS0pfmjHLxjkdv1wQb-PjWwKtPoB7sb8N5MMyyVKwcb8ucmuMO8/s1600/spyglass+and+compass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTBTejqIlrPPW8IBuuDNucBrkydUcsoUBaLWTdnzg7yCHIqeG4pXW-4mCOtlhX6n-bHbiibhY00UhvajSXkdQBb2oAUS0pfmjHLxjkdv1wQb-PjWwKtPoB7sb8N5MMyyVKwcb8ucmuMO8/s320/spyglass+and+compass.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">In just under two weeks, I walk out the door and begin the jouney on the Camino. Final preparations are underway. I'm unpacking and re-packing. Where possible, I'm exchanging some items for others that weigh less. I'm walking to test the fit of clothes, boots and pack, and to test the fitness of my body. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">What I can't really test is the fitness of my mind and spirit. </span><span style="font-size: small;">I guess that is what the pilgrimage is for. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I try to imagine what the next two months will be like, what I will encounter on both the outer and inner paths. I admit to more than a little trepidation. I've been turning to favorite authors for what reassurance and encouragement I can find, such as this from John O'Donohue's "To Bless The Space Between Us" ("Benedictus" in the UK):</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-IE" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IE;"><span style="font-size: small;">A GREAT MOMENT KNOCKS ON THE DOOR OF
YOUR HEART.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-IE">It remains the dream of every life to realize itself, to reach out and
lift oneself up to greater heights. A
life that continues to remain on the safe side of its own habits and
repetitions, that never engages with risk of its own possibility, remains an
unlived life. There is within each heart a hidden voice that calls out for
freedom and creativity. We often linger for years in spaces that are too small
and shabby for the grandeur of our spirit. Yet experience always remains
faithful to us. If lived truthfully and generously, it will always guide us
towards the real pastures. </span></i></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7