It Begins
Morning dawns, dark (as usual), and cloudy, possibly threatening rain. When Rita whips out a perfectly-fitted and lightweight backpack cover, I realize that I am not as prepared for weather eventualities as I had hoped. I have a rain poncho, of course, but nothing to really cover my actual pack. Still, I remain optimistic, since 97% of my things are in their own little waterproof Ziploc bags.
We leave our albuergue, and in a few moments, the town itself:
There is a small stream with a bridge that we walk over, and our path leads us ever west and back onto the Way again. As I begin to fall into the rhythm of the walking, I realize that see Claudette off to my left, walking along the paved road. Our way is off that, a bit down in a sort of "gulley" so I hail her and get her attention to let her know she needs to come this way. She sees me and is grateful. We walk in companionable silence for a while, then our rhythms begin to differ and soon we are each walking solo.
The breeze is moist, just a hint of drizzle and it's much cooler today. The clouds are scudding over, and it's not getting much lighter:
As I walk, I watch carefully to see what the weather might do next, and I realize in the back of my head, I have made up a little singsong chant, something like this: "Thank you for the morning breeze, we walk west, you blow east..." I hum this under my breath as I put one foot in front of the other. I really don't want to walk in rain, although I know at some point it will probably become inevitable. But, whether it's due to my sub-audible plea, or just the vagaries of weather, the clouds continue to scud over, and don't drop any real rain on us. After about 7 KM, we (Rita and I) catch up to one another and arrive in Sansol. Ingeborg is not in sight, and I don't remember what might have held her back. I can't believe that I am actually ahead of someone today, but chalk it up to the coolness of the weather, which allows me to walk more briskly, not feeling heat. Also, I would like a cup of coffee, but since we're trying to let Ingeborg catch up to us, we don't want to wander too far into the little town, so we just find a bench to sit on and nibble on a little snack while we wait.
Soon, we see her coming up the inevitable hill to meet up with us and we are on our way again. The clouds are lightening up, but it's still mostly overcast and a cool breeze is blowing. I am chilly, but prefer that to being over warm. Barely a kilometer later, we come into Torres del Rio, and this time, just as we begin our way through the winding streets, we see a little cafe/bar that is open. Coffee sounds wonderful, so, we duck inside and have a cup. This seems like a newer place, family run, and there is a young woman there with a new baby in a stroller. Of course, we all oooh and ahh over him, in the universal language of baby admiration. I tell the young mother I am a grandmother, and she smiles shyly at me. We take advantage of their quite-modern facilities, and we are off again. After this, the weather begins to warm up somewhat, and we climb into ridge country, after walking for a time along the highway. Even with the rocks and the uneven going, I much prefer being "off-road". It's more peaceful, one doesn't have to worry about traffic (except for the ubiquitous bicyclists), and the views are way better:
That's me in the distance, by the way, Ingeborg took this photo. It's a rather uneventful day of just good, solid walking. We pass a shepard and his flock, aided by his faithful dog, and stop to have lunch up on a ridge, where we can actually look down and see Viana, where we will end up. We have a discussion about whether to stay in alburque tonight, or find different accommodations. Ingeborg says she would like to have a little privacy and neither Rita nor I argue with her, so she pulls out Miam-Miam Do-Do, and looks for their recommendations. We'll call when we get closer.
After a post-prandial pit stop, we are off again, but this afternoon, I notice that my right foot seems to have developed a problem. I have been pretty much fanatic about taking care of my feet this whole trip. I have been changing my socks in the middle of the day, using my foot cream that I made especially for this trip, and just overall being vigilant for blisters or other skin irritations. So far, so good, but this is different--this is not skin related, although my foot does feel HOT when I walk on it. But it's not the skin. I stop a couple of times to check, slowing us all down, but my skin is good everywhere. Still, whenever I put my right foot down, I have this hot, sharp, burning pain right at the base of my 2nd toe. I try to slough off the feeling, telling myself I can "push through it". For a while it seems to work, then, having fallen behind again, I catch up with my 2 companions who have been resting. Sit, they say, rest up, don't worry. So, I do. I take off my boot again, rub my foot, check the skin--no blister, just very tender when I push on that area. I don't sit too long--I feel guilty for holding them up, but now it's about 2 or 3 pm (I'm not really sure), and my foot REALLY hurts. Ingeborg begins to tell me a story about how she was fascinated by Cesar Borgia when she was little, and how he is buried in Vienna, how she found out by reading a boot in her father's library, etc. etc. I think, okay, this is an interesting story, but why are you telling me this, what possible relation does it have to our walking?
Only later, as I am standing outside the church in Viana, do I realize that she was NOT talking about VIENNA, but VIANA ("Bee-ah-nah"), and Cesar Borgia is buried right HERE, just outside the door leading into the church. Apparently, he was deemed so evil that the priest, while allowing him to be buried on the church grounds, would NOT let him be buried inside the actual church itself! As we stand there, looking at the inscribed stone, a man comes up to us and tells us how fitting it is that such an evil person was buried there--so that churchgoers for all eternity will walk over him as he burns in Hell. Quite a story.
But now, I am not thinking about that, just the pain in my foot. I try to adjust my gait, and of course, as it always the case when you have a "boo-boo" somewhere, every time I put my foot down it seems to be on the biggest rock, or root, or uneven place in the road. I am feeling so bummed, because up till now, the walking has been good, we will have done 20 KM by the time we reach Viana, and if all goes well, this might be our regular pace from here own out. But not with a bum foot.
We come down off the ridge, lowering into the valley where Viana is located (but still on a hill, of course!). Ingeborg calls our private alburgue, and I speak to the woman to make our reservations, 1 room, 3 beds, shower. Great, done. At least that takes a bit of the worry off.
Slowly, we progress on, and then at last, we are walking off the dirt of the path and onto the paved roads of the town of Viana, following Ingeborg's apparently infallible guide book into the heart of the city. We find the church, but just duck in long enough to get a small map of the town. Using this, we find the street our place is own, manage to get let in, and check in. It's fairly modern, we are of course, up 3 flights of stairs, but the room is clean, and there's a good bed for each of us, and a private bath with a shower! Immediately, we all bathe and wash out various itemes of clothing, turning the room at once into a working clothesline--Pilgrims are very inventive when it comes to finding places to hang up damp laundry for drying!
Now that I've showered and changed out of my boots, I feel better, so we go back out to wander. I want to go to the pilgrim's mass, so we go back over to the church. The altar is set up, and is amazing:
It always takes me back when I come into these relatively small places, really out in the middle of no-where, and find these utterly stunning and awe-inspiring churches. I sit for a while in the silence, being thankful, soaking in the atmosphere of reverence. I notice there is a man in a gray sweater kneel in the center of the pews, lost in prayer. A fellow pilgrim, I assume.
When we leave the restaurant it's very quiet, and we get back to our hostal with no trouble. None of these places are very big, except for the very largest cities. Not once have a felt like I might be in danger from anything other than tripping over a rock. It's a good feeling, actually. We all gather back to our room, hit the small beds, and without the nightly snoring symphony of 40 or 50 people, are asleep almost instantly.
We leave our albuergue, and in a few moments, the town itself:
There is a small stream with a bridge that we walk over, and our path leads us ever west and back onto the Way again. As I begin to fall into the rhythm of the walking, I realize that see Claudette off to my left, walking along the paved road. Our way is off that, a bit down in a sort of "gulley" so I hail her and get her attention to let her know she needs to come this way. She sees me and is grateful. We walk in companionable silence for a while, then our rhythms begin to differ and soon we are each walking solo.
The breeze is moist, just a hint of drizzle and it's much cooler today. The clouds are scudding over, and it's not getting much lighter:
As I walk, I watch carefully to see what the weather might do next, and I realize in the back of my head, I have made up a little singsong chant, something like this: "Thank you for the morning breeze, we walk west, you blow east..." I hum this under my breath as I put one foot in front of the other. I really don't want to walk in rain, although I know at some point it will probably become inevitable. But, whether it's due to my sub-audible plea, or just the vagaries of weather, the clouds continue to scud over, and don't drop any real rain on us. After about 7 KM, we (Rita and I) catch up to one another and arrive in Sansol. Ingeborg is not in sight, and I don't remember what might have held her back. I can't believe that I am actually ahead of someone today, but chalk it up to the coolness of the weather, which allows me to walk more briskly, not feeling heat. Also, I would like a cup of coffee, but since we're trying to let Ingeborg catch up to us, we don't want to wander too far into the little town, so we just find a bench to sit on and nibble on a little snack while we wait.
Soon, we see her coming up the inevitable hill to meet up with us and we are on our way again. The clouds are lightening up, but it's still mostly overcast and a cool breeze is blowing. I am chilly, but prefer that to being over warm. Barely a kilometer later, we come into Torres del Rio, and this time, just as we begin our way through the winding streets, we see a little cafe/bar that is open. Coffee sounds wonderful, so, we duck inside and have a cup. This seems like a newer place, family run, and there is a young woman there with a new baby in a stroller. Of course, we all oooh and ahh over him, in the universal language of baby admiration. I tell the young mother I am a grandmother, and she smiles shyly at me. We take advantage of their quite-modern facilities, and we are off again. After this, the weather begins to warm up somewhat, and we climb into ridge country, after walking for a time along the highway. Even with the rocks and the uneven going, I much prefer being "off-road". It's more peaceful, one doesn't have to worry about traffic (except for the ubiquitous bicyclists), and the views are way better:
That's me in the distance, by the way, Ingeborg took this photo. It's a rather uneventful day of just good, solid walking. We pass a shepard and his flock, aided by his faithful dog, and stop to have lunch up on a ridge, where we can actually look down and see Viana, where we will end up. We have a discussion about whether to stay in alburque tonight, or find different accommodations. Ingeborg says she would like to have a little privacy and neither Rita nor I argue with her, so she pulls out Miam-Miam Do-Do, and looks for their recommendations. We'll call when we get closer.
After a post-prandial pit stop, we are off again, but this afternoon, I notice that my right foot seems to have developed a problem. I have been pretty much fanatic about taking care of my feet this whole trip. I have been changing my socks in the middle of the day, using my foot cream that I made especially for this trip, and just overall being vigilant for blisters or other skin irritations. So far, so good, but this is different--this is not skin related, although my foot does feel HOT when I walk on it. But it's not the skin. I stop a couple of times to check, slowing us all down, but my skin is good everywhere. Still, whenever I put my right foot down, I have this hot, sharp, burning pain right at the base of my 2nd toe. I try to slough off the feeling, telling myself I can "push through it". For a while it seems to work, then, having fallen behind again, I catch up with my 2 companions who have been resting. Sit, they say, rest up, don't worry. So, I do. I take off my boot again, rub my foot, check the skin--no blister, just very tender when I push on that area. I don't sit too long--I feel guilty for holding them up, but now it's about 2 or 3 pm (I'm not really sure), and my foot REALLY hurts. Ingeborg begins to tell me a story about how she was fascinated by Cesar Borgia when she was little, and how he is buried in Vienna, how she found out by reading a boot in her father's library, etc. etc. I think, okay, this is an interesting story, but why are you telling me this, what possible relation does it have to our walking?
Only later, as I am standing outside the church in Viana, do I realize that she was NOT talking about VIENNA, but VIANA ("Bee-ah-nah"), and Cesar Borgia is buried right HERE, just outside the door leading into the church. Apparently, he was deemed so evil that the priest, while allowing him to be buried on the church grounds, would NOT let him be buried inside the actual church itself! As we stand there, looking at the inscribed stone, a man comes up to us and tells us how fitting it is that such an evil person was buried there--so that churchgoers for all eternity will walk over him as he burns in Hell. Quite a story.
But now, I am not thinking about that, just the pain in my foot. I try to adjust my gait, and of course, as it always the case when you have a "boo-boo" somewhere, every time I put my foot down it seems to be on the biggest rock, or root, or uneven place in the road. I am feeling so bummed, because up till now, the walking has been good, we will have done 20 KM by the time we reach Viana, and if all goes well, this might be our regular pace from here own out. But not with a bum foot.
We come down off the ridge, lowering into the valley where Viana is located (but still on a hill, of course!). Ingeborg calls our private alburgue, and I speak to the woman to make our reservations, 1 room, 3 beds, shower. Great, done. At least that takes a bit of the worry off.
Slowly, we progress on, and then at last, we are walking off the dirt of the path and onto the paved roads of the town of Viana, following Ingeborg's apparently infallible guide book into the heart of the city. We find the church, but just duck in long enough to get a small map of the town. Using this, we find the street our place is own, manage to get let in, and check in. It's fairly modern, we are of course, up 3 flights of stairs, but the room is clean, and there's a good bed for each of us, and a private bath with a shower! Immediately, we all bathe and wash out various itemes of clothing, turning the room at once into a working clothesline--Pilgrims are very inventive when it comes to finding places to hang up damp laundry for drying!
Now that I've showered and changed out of my boots, I feel better, so we go back out to wander. I want to go to the pilgrim's mass, so we go back over to the church. The altar is set up, and is amazing:
It always takes me back when I come into these relatively small places, really out in the middle of no-where, and find these utterly stunning and awe-inspiring churches. I sit for a while in the silence, being thankful, soaking in the atmosphere of reverence. I notice there is a man in a gray sweater kneel in the center of the pews, lost in prayer. A fellow pilgrim, I assume.
Pilgrim's mass is not for a while, and Rita has been feeling a little "off" so we find a pharmacy where she can check her blood pressure. It's fine, and we strike up a conversation with the pharmacisit, and also another German woman who is walking the Camino for the 2nd or possibly 3rd time. It's the time of afternoon when people are coming out of siesta, where there is an air of geniality, if not festivity. It doesn't look like there's an actual festival going on, it's more like the little town is waking up. The clock begins to strike and we go back to the church for the mass.
When the priest comes out, I realize that he was the man in the gray sweater I had noticed earlier. He is in his immaculate vestments, these with a bright green over garment. Every place is different, every mass, though all are Catholic, imbued with the nature and flavor of its own little town and population. As I watch and listen to this man, I have a strong feeling that he is not happy, whether it is doubt in his own faith, doubt of the church, or just a problem with pilgrims in general, I cannot say. Certainly, he performs the ceremony well and with apparent sincerety, but it is just a feeling I get from him, a "vibe". Afterwards, when he calls the pilgrims up for blessing, I go, and actually am close enough to feel a bit of a sprinkle from the holy water. His homily to the pilgrims is interesting. "Use the silence of your walk," he says, "to know God. Use the companionship of your fellow Pilgrims to see Christ in every man." I find it very moving and powerful.
Ingeborg and I come out feeling blessed. Rita did not go to the mass, and we are not sure where she is. We go back to the room, but she is not there, so we decide to wander around a bit to see if we can find her AND a place to eat. After a bit, we ask about a place for a Pilgrim "menu" and are directed to a bar/restaurant that seems to be doing a brisk business. There is Rita with Gaby and some other German friends they they have met. We would love to join them, but they have already begun the first serving and the won't seat us till the second serving. This highly agitates Ingeborg, who wants to leave and find somwhere else to eat. I'm hungry enough to agree with her, although I liked the atmosphere of the place, despite the seating rules. We find a restaurant just down the way and have a quite meal in the almost-empty dining room. It's fine. The food is good, the wine is good, and we have lots to talk about.When we leave the restaurant it's very quiet, and we get back to our hostal with no trouble. None of these places are very big, except for the very largest cities. Not once have a felt like I might be in danger from anything other than tripping over a rock. It's a good feeling, actually. We all gather back to our room, hit the small beds, and without the nightly snoring symphony of 40 or 50 people, are asleep almost instantly.
Tomorow, the adventure continues...
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