Month: July 2017

Day 17 
After refilling my water at the fountain across from the Albergue, I made my way up through the old town of Sarria, past the monastery of Magdalena and its adjacent cemetery, and down a long dark drive until crossing over some railroad tracks and then up through a steep and dark mountain trail.

I left at 5:30 that morning and so the wooded trail was almost too dark to walk by twilight, but I did it anyway, just following the “tunnel” toward its slightly more lit wooded end, and turning on my headlamp whenever I sensed any ambiguity in trail direction or footing of the trail underneath.  

About an hour or so into the walk I was able to see everything, except that it was a foggy, almost drizzly, morning. For the first time on the camino I actually got off the trail, and ended up walking through an open meadow and adjacent farm.

It seems that others had made the same mistake as there was just a hint of an indent in the grass, heading through the meadow to what appeared to be a fence opening in the foggy distance, toward which progressed with calm and enjoyment of this peaceful surrounding.  

I also lucked upon a fox who apparently saw me before I saw him as he was dashing across the far end of the meadow toward an adjacent wood and what appeared to be a trail, to which the grass indent was leading me.  

As I got to the wood, there was in fact a trail and an electric fence between me and it, but which thankfully was not hot. I was glad to be back on the camino, but also enjoyed the scenic detour.  

Looked like I was well ahead of the pack this morning and I came across the first coffee place, 8 k into the walk, arriving just before the shop attendant who seemed a little befuddled having a customer there before he could set up. 

That morning he group from Ireland, including Tom and Mary, showed up again right behind me. We’ve been more or less on a similar schedule, arriving more or less at the same spots and same times as each other, and keeping generally light and pleasant conversation on these occasions. It seems strange, but I am able to understand and communicate better with the spaniards than with the Irish, though nothing negative about the exchange, the saying that “we are two peoples, separated by a common language,” seems to ring true here. It may also just be personalities and demographics as well. Either way, it is has been good to at least run into familiar faces on a daily basis and use each other as a sort of reference point or source of information on how the Camino is going or what Albergue to stay at, or what trail to take, etc.  

Later that day I made my last stop before Portomarino at Mercadoiros, where there was a very nice bar-Albergue with jazz playing and a friendly shop attendant who shared his life long desire to move to California with me. They made an excellent tortilla española, and after I got that down I made my way into Portomarino. 

As I walked down the hill into town I noticed major Sunday festivities going on, with barbeqed octopus and other items being served down toward the port area at the entrance to town.  

I made my way through the BBQ and up the main stretch and open air market, past the church bulging and to the municipal Albergue, where I ended up taking an hour nap while in line there waiting for them to open at one pm.  

I was glad to be greeted by the Spanish gal who was in the bunk above me the night before, who had found my headphones and brought them too me. 

After my routine I made my way down the the Mirador restaurant and was joined unexpectedly by Ignacio who also eyeballed the same restaurant. The views of the reservoir and surrounding area were great, and the food also lived up to the atmosphere.  
Over lunch I had a great time quizzing Ignacio on old Spanish words no longer in use, and was delighted to see that he knew the meaning of most of them, and he also helped me understand a few that I have not been able to look up online due to their not being in a standard modern dictionary.  

Later on, after my nap and more Albergue routine, I decided for an earlier dinner (6pm instead of 8:30-9pm) with another pilgrim, as I was too tired to stay up for the late Spanish dinner that day.  

We went back to the mirador and I just had soup and some white wine, and we enjoyed the ambiance while sharing a bit of our Camino stories and general life issues that somehow intertwine with our reasons for doing the camino. 

This particular friend shared the absence of their father throughout most of their life, except for showing up once when they were eighteen with expectations for perhaps easy reconciliation. While my experience with my father was not exactly the same as that, I was able to identify with her and it was tough to hold back the emotions while reflecting upon the unapparent but profound impact that the absence of ones father can leave on ones life. 

Most of the time I don’t even realize the wound is there, except unexpectedly, as if out of the nowhere of my subconscious and my heart, the sense of abandonment or absence of affection just hits you in the gut and the tears come forth no matter the efforts to restrain or to move past it. 

After dinner, I made my way back to my bed and crashed, leaving the packing for early morning.  

Day 16
I decided on the shorter but more arduous mountain route, versus the longer route passing through monastery of Somoza today.  

The terrain was again full of more rain forest, hamlets, cattle, and the like…

As I arrived to Sarria I was originally intending to stay at the Monastery of Magdalena which was the last stop out of town, and I finally found it after getting help from local homeless guy. On the way up I passed by a crucifix and lookout over Sarria, and then after getting to the monastery, one of the monks suggested I stay at the municipal, given its proximity to market and restaurants and it’s cost being 40% less. I went along.

At the albergue I ran into Gabby and Ignacio again, which was nice, as it is has been good to build up a small network of camino friends who sort of look out for you along the way. 

Before checking into the Albergue we had a beer and some pinchos at the restaurant up the street from Albergue where we saw Miguel the Andaluz for the last time as he was powering forward to Santiago at 2x speed. He, being and ex legioneer and full of grit and energy, could not sit around for an early finish and rest this day. He said his goodbyes in a mixture of hearty Spanish and Arabic and we all laughed and reminisced about the few days walking and dialogue with him. 

I also ran into Lorich and another gentleman from the U.K. that I had met back in Carrion de los Condes a couple of weeks prior. They had also formed their group and were more or less walking and or staying together in the same albergues at the time. 

After my routine I grabbed a Coke Zero across the way from the Albergue. I saw an pilgrim that I’ve been seeing from town to town, usually drinking heavily every day and looking semi homeless, engaging passers by, pilgrim and on pilgrim, with “buen camino!” followed by other garbled and self humoring commentary as to the passers by and his opinion thereof.  

I’ve seen this too on the camino, a few folks that appear to segue off the guardrails of life, but seem perhaps detached, I think the Camino being the venue and not the occasion or cause of their detachment, from community, and either crying against, or out for, a reattachment of some sorts.  

Not sure but there seems to be a fine line among those who find themselves detached, me having been one of them at a time, some of whom grow in resentment, frustration, and perhaps distortion or myopia of perception as to their circumstances and place in community, and others who hold on to a sense of rightness with being in community and long for restoration therein, however or whenever that might be.  

This gentleman, much like another that I saw a few days later seemed to be recalcitrant towards a real engagement with his surroundings, or at least there seemed to be a dense fog of emotional scarring and intoxication that made it difficult for that re engagement to take place.  

The other gentleman I saw in the same situation seemed to be an ex pilgrim, obviously with some severe substance abuse issues, who I first noticed being aggressive with a market cashier as he tried to negotiate the price for something down. I later saw him outside the store with an arrangement of pilgrim identifiers (like his shell necklace) apparently to qualify himself as a current or ex pilgrim and potential recipient of alms from other pilgrims or ship goers.  

Where I might normally have stopped, even for someone aggressive like this man, I for some reason did not, and as I passed by, he shreaked out in a raspy Dutch Spanish accent, “yeah f- you too!”  

While my first internal reaction was negative to this man’s attitude, in hindsight I reflected on God’s condescension and covenant faithfulness to His people who not only repeatedly sin against Him, but sometimes outright run from, or fight against Him (Samson, Jonah, Paul, etc). Wherever that man was at in his heart, I needed to remember that there is only one good and just Judge, and that I need to do a better job to consistently show the love of Christ, even to those who have no interest or appreciation for it, as the Spirit will work according to His will and God can chose to set His love upon and call back to Him anyone He chooses.  

Later that evening Ignacio and I went to the store and bought some salami, bread, a Spanish omlet, and some other items for dinner ($6 euro each) and ended up meeting and sharing with four new friends on the camino, Pilar, Antonio, Daniel, and Raul.  

Daniel and Raul are two young men studying physics at university level and who are doing the camino together. It with many of the young people on the camino it has been enriching to be reminded of my youth, sense of wonder and idealism, lack of experience and wisdom, and lack of inhibitions and overflowing hopes that I recall having in my earlier years. 

Different than many youngsters their age on the camino, however, they had more of an innocence and idealism about them that made them such a delight to be around. Just being reminded what it is like to see the world with fresh and untainted eyes, and also perhaps, unlike what it seems for many of the youth on the camino, reflecting a measure of love and support they’ve received in their home life, something that I think is going through another wave of deterioration in the last couple hundred years of modern to post modern western culture.  

It was enjoyable to just listen to their observations and questions on life and it’s related matters, to discuss the camino and reasons for doing so, and just generally see their friendship and to consider the richness of this experiences together and the memories that they would eventually share as they moved on to the next phases in life.

They also reminded me of my son, Christian, who is only 9, but is similar in terms of his intellect and idealism and general warm heartedness and positive view of the world and life.  

Among other things that evening, we shared our literary perspectives on Don Quijote, my take, for example on the closing scene, being that Sancho mourning over Don Quijote’s disillusionment and death, being modernity’s mourning over, the death of, and expressing its implicit subjacent dependence upon, premodernity, Quijote being the archetypal pre modern man, and Panza being that of the modern man. (I’ll have more to say about this in another blog post).

I shared some other prolific works that they might want to read, like the Decameron, one could say Italy’s 12th century version of the Zombie apocalypse mixed with elements of downtown abbey, and also a definitive work on shaping the modern Italian language.  

I recall at one point giving them the advice not to confuse wisdom with worldliness as they gained more experience in the years to come. I implored them o grow in wisdom without compromising their wonder , and to keep the lenses of their heart pure and unclouded with the fog (of sin) that the world tries to pass for wisdom.  

It was a good evening and the formation of our little group that would finish te final 108 km of the Camino together.  

Day 15
Made my way along the poorly marked mountain path down to Linares, mostly using moonlight and doubting as to whether I was on the right path for at least 30 minutes, except for the “wornness” if the path itself and the general direction I was taking away from Venus am towards the darker part of the twilit sky. 

I discovered yesterday that Galicia is “witch country,” which makes sense as both the weather and terrain, gloomy and wooded, as well as the Celtic influenced culture seem to give that vibe. I also noticed certain decore and symbology in the town of el Cebreiro was explicit about the matter. 

One Spaniard said to me, “If you ask someone from Galicia if there are witches here, he’ll tell you that he does not believe in witches, but yes they exist.” :).  

This section of the camino was also where a young pilgrim woman was murdered in back in 2014, the year after I did the first half.  

As I made my way down the steep decline from O Cebreiro I passed through many successive small helmets with cattle and chicken, and it finally dawned on my the similarity of Galician culture and language to Portuguese.  

I walked by an older woman scolding and gathering her escaped chickens as she yelled at them, “pare li, dentro!” “Stop right there, get back inside!”   

My final stretch into Tricastela had a very “Pac Nwest” feel to it with lots of ferns, wild blackberries, pines, and mossy oaks along the way. There were also these sections of tunnel like worn forest path with earth, rock, bushes, and branches swirling to guide one forward as if into a drain toward the lighted woods at the end thereof.  

Approached Tricastela I thought about all the different types of folks I’ve walked past or interacted with on the camino… young & old, hippie and conservative, families and singles, uneducated and erudite, and yet all interested to disrupt and disconnect from the socio-economic guardrails that so easily draw and distract us along a less contemplative and potentially unfruitful path.   

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I decided to stay in a private Albergue today as I was looking for a bit of comfort, convenience, and internet connectivity compared to prior nights stays. Only, and significant, issue here was that I awoke from my nap itching all along my mid rift to discover bug bites, not sure fleas or bed bugs, but everywhere.  

I got up and went to the store to buy powders, sprays, creams, and pills, :), I know, seems extreme, to address the room, my clothes, the itching, and my bodies reaction to the bites (swelling & redness).
As I started treating my bunk area a German lady went into freak out mode regarding the potential presence of bed bugs as she almost leaped from her bunk, grabbed her hair, and bemoaned and wailed with a shuddering voice,

“Oh no, oh no, not bed bugs!” As the object of her concern shifted from the bugs, then to me, and then eventually I the Albergue. 

She was effective in making te whole bunk house scatter, which was helpful in letting me finish the treatment of bunk area, and I later went down to verify proper sanitary protocol with Albergue staff, who vehemently denied the existence of bugs of any sort, and showed me documentation to corroborate such. :/ I would later return from lunch to see that the German lady had checked out, and the other Spanish and South African bunk mates seemingly resolved, either with my treatment of the issue or with the reality of bed bugs and similar issues as a potential part of the Camino experience.  

Lunch with Miguel & Ignacio went well. I had lentejas as first, lomo as second, and arroz con leche as dessert, and learned more about the Andalusian culture from Miguel, who told me that the true meaning of Guadalajara was “smelly river.” He actually lives in a Spanish city in North Africa, but the name escapes me at the moment. 

After finishing my nap, my blog, and my daily routine, I later meandered over to the adjacent restaurant and had dinner with some folks staying at my Albergue, one of which was an empty nester 10-year divorcee from South Africa. Her daughter was already living abroad in France, and her son was about to move to Australia to stay with his father. 

Among many things, we talked about the twists and turns that even the best laid plans in life can give us, and I could see the simultaneous sense of uncertainty with her situation as well as resolve to embrace the uncertainly, for example in her choice to step away and do the Camino before moving on to this next chapter of “what is my role and purpose in life now.”  

Interwoven in our conversation was this discussion of ultimate reason for being, of God and His identity and nature, and of His revelation both in His World and in His Word. The conversation was good as we were able to follow our lines of reasoning back to presuppositions and identify, at least incipiently, the “faith” upon which we align our orientations, either in submission, or in rebellion, to God.  

We also talked about the inspiration and canonicity of scripture, which I see more and more as a critical component in the recognition and understanding of God’s revealed will. 

Another day on the camino.

Day 14 

Made my way out of town by street and headlamp, with a bit of twilight appearing after crossing the Burbia river at the edge of town.  

Today’s camino wound along the bottom of many narrow mountain ravines with a moderate ascent until the last 8 of 31 kilometers where I had to climb 600 meters from Herrerías to O Cebreiro.  

Most of the day’s walking was cool and shaded, and the first hour I could merely see the black mountains and dark blue sky with the path and adjacent road reflecting the earliest twilight in blue. I also got to walk along the river most of the way, and it’s sound, together with the breeze rustling through the trees was like live relaxation audio.  

It was cool to see the climate and cultural change with each passing village as their language and food became more Galician, which so far seems to me a combination of Portuguese and Celtic cultures.  

Along the way I saw signs for horse rentals to make the last 8km climb, but once I arrived to Herrerias I discovered they only leave at 10am and 4pm with prior reservations, so I decided to stop there for an hour and hydrate as well as eat some fresh fruit before powering it up the hill. 

The ascent to O Cebreiro was brutal, but I made sure to keep plenty of sugar and oxygen in my blood supply, both by drinking juice along the way and by keeping a solid climbing and breathing rythm, taking deep karate breaths to sustain oxygen levels and manage my heart rate.  

I received a few compliments at the stops along the ascent as to my waking-climbing pace and persistence.  

My last stop before O Cebreiro was a little bar-restaurant in Lagina de Castilla where they were playing folk music and a local alcoholic kept shouting “otra! Otra!” after each song was over.   

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While seated, the unpredictable Galician weather kicked in with things going from sunny to cool and stormy in a matter of 10-15 minutes.  

I then suited up and made my way up the flowered and wooded path, looking across the steep ravines and to the surrounding green hills. 

As I reached O Cebreiro it seemed like a small enchanted Celtic village in the clouds, all very old stone structures with a church building and a few restaurants and hostels or albergues. 

I made my way up to the municipal albergue, which was a bit crowded, and worked my way through my daily routine, in spite of the crowds and lines.  

Part of the daily routine is hand washing of clothes, which can be an awkward but affective way to meet other people. Nothing like introducing yourself to someone while you are both washing your socks and underwear together.  

After hanging my clothes out to dry I took a nap, and woke up to discover speedo Gandalf in the bunk next to me again (tomorrow I’m going to stay in a parochial albergue to mix it up a bit).

After the nap I caught up on some reading and some scriptures before grabbing a light dinner and glass of wine with a few Irish folks I’ve gotten to know along the way.  

We sat out on the patio overlooking the sunset, shared some bad jokes, and shared a bit about our faith. One of the gals from Ireland shared a Gaelic prayer that they would say before bed every night… If I can get it word for word ill share in another post.  

Before turning it in, I was able to call home and hear about the kids enjoying their hotel, especially the pool and the cookies in the lobby… simple things in life. 

Day 13 
I slept in until 6am this morning, but was out the door quickly, since I usually set up my pack the evening before. Some pilgrims like to lay it all out on the floor and pack and repack in the morning, but I think that makes for a long day.  

On my way out of town I experimented with one pilgrims suggestion so use gravity to my advantage and to sort of jog-bounce on small, non-gravel, downhill stretches. Bad idea. Too much wear on tendons in feet and ankles. Thankfully I wrapped up that experiment quickly.  

After an hour walking I grabbed breakfast next to the Templar Castle in Ponferrada, and envisioned what kinds of activities and daily happenings must have gone on in its early years after construction.   

From there I walked straight through downtown and asked a local to help me find the camino, and they told me about the direct route versus the winding route and so I took straight road to Cancebadon for juice, water, & Coke Zero break before making my way up the hill to Villafranca. 

The climb to Villafranca was sunny and warm, but pleasant, as I passed through the local wine country. Thankfully, my feet and legs seem to be getting conditioned to the walk and the slightly increased distance.  

I decided to have lunch with Ignacio, Miguel, and Marcos, and we listened to he and Ignacio’s stories of the Franco days, where Miguel was a police officer at the time. They told me about the assassination of Franco’s successor back in the 70’s where the car that he was in was blasted three stories into the air and over one block.  

Miguel is from Andalucía and is quite a story teller, so we all sat back and listened to him jabber and talk about how to make the best paella while also flirting with the waitress and telling old police stories.  

We then headed back to the Albergue where I listened to the enthronement Psalms while going down for a siesta.  

After my nap, I picked up some wine, dry salami, dark chocolate with hazelnuts, and some donut peaches to add to the dinner pool for later that evening.  

In the plaza I ran into Mario from Italy, who said he needed to do a shorter 10k stretch next day to recover from the Molina Seca decent. I also ran into Jeremy from the U.K. who was surprised to see me pacing along so well after first meeting me on a cold morning with my knee acting up. The prior days walk did a toll on his hips and back, but he seems to have the strength to keep the pace to Santiago. 

Ignacio & Miguel led the dinner prep while Marco and I set the table. It’s nice eating dinner with the Spaniards as the Americans and French have been eating at 6, and w don’t usually get started until 8:30-9.

   

At dinner Marco announced that he had to go home due to a tendon issue in his right ankle, making it too painful to even walk. He was disappointed, but determined to come back and finish the following year. We had a nice send off dinner for him. 

Day 12
Got to bed and up early today and first out the door to Molina Seca. 

The walk up to Cruz de Fierro was beautiful as I walked by twilight for the first 45 minutes or so with the sun peaking over the eastern horizon just as I arrived to Foncebadon, a sort of “alpine village” where I had breakfast. 

The breakfast was all granolas, yogurt and fruits, and there was Indian music and incense burning inside the place. I sat on the patio, but when I went in for a refill on coffee I met John, a Methodist preacher who did the English scripture reading at vespers the evening before.   

He started speaking to me in broken Spanish because he thought I was a native speaker. 

I met he and his daughter and daughter in law, all doing the camino together. We talked a bit about the Methodist tradition, about the churches of Christ, and about the new reformation going on. His daughter attends a reformed congregation in Oklahoma City, part of the Acts 29 movement. We’ve been running into each other quite a bit since then. 

After wrapping up breakfast I made my way up to the Cruz de Fierro, an important day for me, as my good friend that I walked with last time had taken my rock there for me when I was unable to finish the camino in 2013.  

I suppose it’s the sense of community that we as finite image bearers of God were meant to live in, where we bear each other’s burdens and support each other along our respective paths.  

I was very grateful to be able to bring my friends rock to the cross this time, and “complete the circle,” in a sense… bringing closure to and continuity to caminos past and present.  

I was feeling strong that morning, thankfully, because the decent down the mountain was no small feat.  

Four or five km into the decent I passed by the famous landmark with the various signs pointing out kilometers to cities access the world, including the 5k kilometers to Jerusalem sign. 

After that point it seemed like crossing the grapevine and descending from the equivalent of Castaic to Bakersfield along a dry and winding boulder filled creek bed… the experience was draining for sure.

Just when I felt the last bit of energy wane, after stopping to take shade under a scrub oak and allow some body heat to transfer into a shaded boulder, I realized that the cold riverfront at Molina Seca was just around the bend and down the mountain.  

I got to the waterfront, almost crawling, and took a small nap under a tree before making it down to the water to cool my feet.  

After that, I powered it to the Albergue at the end of town, Santa Marinas, and got in my shower and nap. 

After my nap I scooted down the main strip to a nice waterfront restaurant and opted to dine alone upstairs in the air conditioned dining room full of local relics such as currency, traditional clothing, and the like. I tried to eat as much as I could, but my appetite has been limited… mostly craving fruit, water, juice, and coke light 

When I got back from dinner, the attic room was still cooking, in spite of us all opening windows to create a breeze. I went downstairs to try and make a few calls ok the shoddy wifi connection and then went back upstairs to turn it in for the night. 

When I got back up to the room I noticed the gentleman in te bunk next to me looked like Gandalf, only with a dark tan and in a speedo. I had seen him a few stages earlier and he looked semi homeless… his backpack was just a basic hand me down and his stuff sacks were grocery bags as opposed to the wealthy pilgrims REI set up.  

For whatever the reason, I had a little difficulty going to sleep next to speedo clad Gandalf, so I just put my headphones in and listened to the minor prophets on my uversion audio bible while staring into space trough the skylight above my bed. I could also hear what sounded like wild dogs in the distance, echoing throughout the little valley around Molina Seca. 

Day 11
The bunk room I was in was all early risers and they knew me from previous albergues and so did not hesitate to flip the lights on at 5:30.

There was a coffee shop outside of town and so I stopped to make a call over coffee… putting myself in 1st-2nd place to leave town down to 30th place… not that it’s a race, and things have a way of balancing out over the day depending upon how folks walk, but I definitely enjoy being first and farthest out in the morning… the cool air and solitude.

So, that day I pretty much walked within the morning rush crowd, always someone not too far behind, and not too far in front, and seeing plenty of familiar faces as I took breaks along the way. 

I stopped at one point in El Ganso where two pilgrims from California were playing “this land is your land,…” for the pilgrims passing by… 

Towards the end of the walk I started the climb up the mountains to Rabanal, which was gradual and bearable, but still a good workout. Also, the landscape is starting to change with elevation and proximity to the coast where I walked a good portion of the way in the shade of various scrub oak and pine forests.  

The scrub oak back home in California seem withered and diseased compared to these, perhaps the climate or the variety.  

A lot of Spain feels like home with respect to climate, topography, and vegetation.  

1/2 way up te mountain I ran into a falconer dressed in knights clothing and he gave good advice on how to handle the next few stages of the camino, as well as his generic advise, “si quieres llegar a Santiago como joven, hay que caminar como viejo.” / “if you want to arrive to Santiago with vigor, walk with vigilance.” (Interpretive translation)

Upon entering rabanal I “sniffed out” the best location, first by passing up the albergue at entrance, which is usually the newest or worst, and then followed and talked to the other pilgrims, headed toward the municipal but then taking the last minute detour to Casa de Pilar, which was a perfect little oasis to spend the day. 

Later that evening I walked to the little Romanesque chapel where the local monastic order was to do some Gregorian chant, but discovered that it was part of Latin vespers, and to my surprise, one of the priests asked me to do the Spanish scripture reading, Colossians 1:9-11

““For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience,”

This was totally unexpected and I got to sit in those little wooden benches together with the priests until my portion of the liturgy was due.  

We also sang a few New Testament canticles in Latin, including…

2 Tim 1 and Luke 1

After vespers I had a huge plate of penne pasta and a glass of rosado before hitting the sack.  

Day 10 
Slept in this morning, and was a long way to the first coffee.

Time went by fairly quickly, as I happened upon a talkative pilgrim that morning… 

The breakfast place, just before the bridge of Obrigon, was perfect, with backyard patio and extra large coffee servings. They also had some pet pidgeons that helped themselves to the left over breakfast.

After breakfast I walked across the bridge of the Paso Honroso – http://www.galiciaguide.com/Stage-23.html, which was one of the inspirations for Cervantes’ Don Quijote, and perhaps also echoed by the little bridge defending dog in the movie Labrynth.  

On the way out of Hospital del Orbigo I met Jeremy from the U.K., who recently finds himself in a welcome employment transition after some m&a at the company where he spent 31 years.  

His daughter did the camino 7 years prior, and she came back a different person. He and she are sharing pictures as he retraces her steps from seven years earlier.  

Jeremy said he’s never been a particularly religious person, but after being here on te camino, and seeing the persons snd moments of faith, and then also spending some contemplative time in the various church buildings he’s visited, his heart is more open to the things of God. 

Jeremy pressed forward as I climbed the little mountain range between Orbigo and Astorga, where the sun was beating down and my water had ran out.  

Just as I was feeling a bit fainted, I discovered a little donativo oasis where a gentleman gives out free/donation fruit, juice, water, and places to rest under the hot sun. 

I heard him explain to some cyclists that he does it as his life’s ministry, to help others as they make their way along the camino. Needless to say, he helped me out, and I sat in one of his Egyptian style resting tents and put down some watermelon and peaches while letting my feet recover as well. 

After this, I headed down the mountain and then up through Astorga, exhausted from the bright sun and warm weather, but impressed with the medieval architecture and beauty of the town. 

On the way to the albergue I passed by Gaudi’s castle as well as the Cathedral, both with such splendor, as if out of a fairytale.  

I finished that evening in the Plaza Mayor, taking advantage of the local pilgrim menu’s and greeting fellow pilgrims that I’ve ran into since Burgos. 

Day 9
The trek out of Leon was a long one, mostly up hill and industrial, and with all the touring of the town then night before, my hips and knees were screaming at me.

I also ran into a lot of partiers on the way out of town, folks walking home after the 6am close of the fiesta… I’ve noticed, in both big cities and small, that the parties here go loud and late, or long rather.

After making it past the industrial district, I found a dinky little down called Fesno del Camino, which was more like wood lake or prunedale del camino.   

I ran into Hele and Guillerme there, who stated they both have plans to backpack across South America after they finish the camino and take a twin month break at home. 

I finally arrived in Villar de Mazarife where I had planned on staying at Casa Jesus, a municipal albergue were folks can draw/write their experience with Christ on the walls of the albergue. While I planned to do so, was tempted by the green front lawn, wifi, spacious bunkhouse, and fridge full of Coca-Cola Zero at the first albergue entering town, St. Anthony de Padua.

I checked in and then took the longest nap ever, waking up only for te communal pilgrim dinner and then heading right to bed thereafter.  

At dinner, I met a gentleman from Taiwan, who had heard about the Way from three different movies, two of which were the Way, with Martin Sheen, and then a movie based on Paul Coelho’s book.

At the table also were three gents from Belgium, doing the camino by bicycle, having started in Belgium, and planning to finish within three weeks, over the course of their vacation.   

Day 8
After being first out the door, I tried to call home but the wind would not cooperate with me.  

Ran into a nice breakfast place with food wifi, for once, and was able to FaceTime everyone, including Momo, my youngest daughter, who I hadn’t talked to in a couple of days. She’s been texting me pictures that she draws, and I’ve been providing my artistic critique.  

The walk into Leon was long, passing through lots of industrial and then commercial before entering the old walled city, which was magnificent.  

It is a truly medieval city with palaces, cathedrals, and even castles… my eldest son Cristian would have loved to see Leon in person…

I got to the convent run albergue a bit early, and so hung out in the pub across the walkway, which was in a cobblestone plaza next to a really old Romanesque chapel.

The pub had that beer cured wood smell and they were playing Spanish folk music, so I had a Caña and a tapa while waiting…

This albergue was ran by nuns and was one of the largest in Leon. The line to check in and get our pilgrim stamp barely moved, it seemed, and I when I finally got to the two hospitaleras checking folks in I could see why… both of them working against and around each other.  

The gentleman who took me to my bunk was from southern Brazil and was surprised that I recognized and could speak his “portoñol.” He seemed to look out for me from that point forward.

After my routine I toured the city, both by bus and via museums, and walked down the main strip, making stops at the farmacy, the chocolate shop, and a seamstress shop where I got my backpack repaired. I know look like a seasoned pilgrim with a patched backpack… only cost me $8 euros instead of a new one for $120 euros or more.  

Later I met up with Antonio and Ignacio, from Spain, to work the tapas scene, but having not been eating enough the last couple of days, my energy plummeted after the first glass of wine, so I made my way back to the albergue early.