Letters To

After Doro and I split up from Ingeborg, we walked across a busy road towards the cathedral, whose spires we could see not far away. In fact, just about anywhere in Burgos you can see the spires of the cathedral, even though it is a fairly large city. We walked through a long, tree-lined paseo, where the trees were so dense and dark overhead that the street lights were on underneath even though it was early afternoon. As we reached the end, we rounded a corner which would take us into the man plaza and we saw what was probably a mid-range hotel, so we decided to duck in and try our luck. As soon as we entered the small lobby and the man behind the desk took a look at our obvious pilgrim attire, I knew what the answer would be--no rooms available. No trouble. I was certainly not going to push to stay were pilgrims were obviously not wanted, so we headed out and back towards the plaza. Doro had a map, and so we eventually got to a church-run alberque that would open around 1 p.m. ...

During the night in Santo Domingo, thunderstorms raged through the night and lightening flashed on and off. As usual, I didn't get much sleep because the man in the bunk next to mine (a good 8 inches away) snored like a chain saw, as did most everyone in the dorm. I continued to be amazed at the huge variety of sounds that human beings make when they're asleep! In the morning, the usual packing ritual ensued and Rita, Ingeborg and I made our way just down the way to a cafe that was open. It was still raining, and Ingeborg saw the little cart above. We weren't sure if someone attached this to a bicycle or whether they simply pulled it, but it looked like she was ready for business! Inside, we had our usual cafe con leche and discussed what to do. I had to say I wasn't really thrilled about walking in the rain, but Rita decided that walk she must, so she left us and headed out into the dark, wet morning. Ingeborg and I decided to take the bus to Burgos. This was wh...

Note: This trip took place in the month of September, 2007. Life intervened but I am determined to get this narrative down in its entirety. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ After the early-morning birthday celebration, Rita decides to walk on with Gaby, and Ingeborg and I decide to take the bus to Santo Domingo de la Calzada. At that time I was beginning to think about walking only every other day for a while, since my foot was acting up again. We wait at the bus stop, and when the bus comes, try to get on, but the driver tells us it is going to the wrong place--backwards for us. Ingeborg thinks they do not want to pick us up because we are peregrinos, but when I re-read the schedule, it seems that we looked at it wrong. The way it's written is that there is one schedule for busses arriving and one for busses leaving. Finally, after being totally confused, we ask a woman who has come to wait and she assures us the next bus is the one we want. Twenty kilometers later, we reach our destination. ...

Note: Per the previous post, all the following posts took place last year; however, I am writing in the present time to keep the "flow". After our lovely stay in our tranquil Navarette B&B (it certainly wasn't a hostel!), Ingeborg and I are eager to go forward to Najera, about a 16K walk. I feel very ready. Rita, who was also in Navarette, has gone on, and I expect we will meet up again in Najera. I feel a little regret at leaving Navarette--it had such a good feeling to it, the beautiful church, the library, the lovely tapas bar with the shaded terrace outside, even the outdoor market we encountered on our arrival. As with many of these tiny towns in Spain, I wish I could stay longer, soak up more of the "juice" of each place. The Camino is eternal, yet the road waits for no one these days because we all have to "get back" to somewhere. As we walk this morning, I almost wish there was no "back" to get to, that I could just keep on, with...

Tomorrow (Labor Day) it will be one full year since I left here to go on my Camino journey. A day does not go by when I am not walking somewhere on that Way in Spain. A day does not go by when I do not think of the people I met there. So, why have I not finished writing about my "adventure"? I can't seem to answer that question to my own satisfaction. I could say it's lack of time, but I manage to post on my other blog at least a couple of times a week, so that's not a good excuse. I think, rather, that somewhere, down deep, I believe that if I don't finish writing about the journey, then the journey won't be over. When, in fact, I know that the journey is FAR from over. I know this. But it doesn't stop the reluctance. Another possibilty I've thought of is that am now at the point of documenting my trip where my foot pain started to interfere with my walking, and where I began to take more bus rides, and where I made the difficult decision...

When morning comes, we all rise, rinse, pack and leave our little lime-green sanctuary. Rita has decided to go ahead and walk with Gaby, Ingeborg decides she would like to bus it short way to Logrono, the capital city of the Rioja region, and in the center of Spanish wine country. I agree to go with her, thinking if I walk a day or two, then maybe take the bus here and there, I can save my foot and all will be well. We have our usual cafe con leche in a little cafe across the plaza from the church and the pharmacy where we were last night. Everything looks different in the quiet morning, yet, since the town is so small, I know exactly where I am. No matter how short a time I spend in these little Spanish town, after even an hour of wandering around in them, I begin to have my bearings and actually feel at home. It's an odd feeling, but good--not so much connected to the people (who often are not present), but to the places themselvs. Perhaps the actual land of Spain has a partiular...