Getting It Done
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.
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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. Santo Domingo de la Calzada is another pleasant town, somewhat larger than some of the others, and it seems very pilgrim friendly. The "Santo Domingo" was a monk in the middle ages who founded a hospital for pilgrims where the cathedral is today.
This cathedral is actually connected to the albuergue where we find our bed for the night--in fact, the front part of where we walk in once WAS that hospital. When I step over the threshhold--and one must step up OVER it, it is into a cavernous area, almost stable-like. There is a smaller room, like a gift shop, off to the right where we go in and pay for our stay--donativo (donation) only. I pay 5 Euros. The office/shop is staffed by monks and one of them shows us up to the dorm area. I am quite happy when I see that due to the low ceilings in the room, there is no room for bunk beds! Everyone is on the ground and there are even storage shelves at each bed. Luxury! Of course, the bathrooms are miles away and down a flight of stairs, but I will worry about that in the middle of the night.
One snag--at the time we arrive, there seems to be a "water outage" in the town, so no flushing of toilets, etc. With 1 bathroom of 2 stalls for women and the same for men, to accommodate many pilgrims, this could get ugly soon. We decide to do a bit of sight seeing, and luckily by the time we get back, the situation has resolved. We go to the cathedral to pray and to look around. This is one of those places where the church has become more like a museum.
Apparently, there is a legend here about a young pilgrim who stopped here on his journey to Santiago. He stayed at an inn, and the innkeeper's daughter had "eyes" for him, but he, being a dutiful pilgrim, declined her advances. Scorned, the daughter put some of her father's belongings in the pilgrim's pack, and then when the loss was noticed, blamed the pilgrim for the theft. He was caught, returned to the town and executed.
Later, his parents having gotten word of what happened, they came to the town to retrieve their son's body. They appealed to the sheriff or lord at the time, who was at his dinner. He refused to give them the body, because it was already buried, stating, "Your son is as dead as this chicken on my plate!" Whereupon the chicken jumped up to life again and flew out the door! The parents rushed outside to discover their son, alive, and walking towards them.
Since then, the church has housed live chickens in a special cage (they are rotated every 4 hours), and if they crow when you are in the church, you will have good luck!
It seems that chicken has been a theme on this pilgrimage. The first place I stayed in in St. Jean was Le Chant du Coq, the Song of the Cock, or the Cock's Crow. My mother and I had this running joke about cooking chicken, which makes no sense to anyone but us, but all this chicken imagery on this journey makes me feel that much closer to her. It's just as if everything on this trip is meant to be, and no matter how it turns out, it will be just what I needed to have happen. It's an odd feeling, but it competely removes all of the pressure of making the trip "be" a certain way.
Later, I wander through the town a bit. I find a book shop/school supply store and buy a wonderful little Camino guidebook. It's in Spanish, which I can read well enough, but the best part is that 1) it's small enough to fit in my shirt pocket, and 2) it has maps with distances between towns and elevations of the walk. It is a complete jewel!
About this time, I start to feel hungry, and go into a small cafe, looking for lunch, but they don't have much left. The woman behind the counter tells me there is a restaurant just across the way, on the 2nd floor, so I go over and up the stairs. It's a nice little place, green and white checked tablecloths, and pink, rather frilly curtains. The decor seems rather incongruous to the clientele, which is made up entirely of working men, taking their noon day break. Apparently, women don't go out to lunch much in the smaller towns of Spain--at least not this restaurant. I am the only woman in the place, but the man who serves me is very polite and accommodating. He is willing to change a 50 Euro bill, even though I realize he has to send his wife out to do so. She is the one who brings me the change, and asks if everything was all right when she hands me the tray with the bills. I get the strong feeling that she wanted to come out to see this female pilgrim who would come into this place, alone, for a midday meal. I tell her everything was lovely, and we share a smile.
As we settle in, the clouds come over, and I experience the first rain storm since I have been in Spain. This one looks like it's going to be around for a while. There is thunder and lightening, and I try to plan out how I will get everything covered if it is raining tomorrow when we leave. I have brought a poncho, but I am not sure if it will fit over me AND all of my backpack, so when the rain lets up, Ingeborg, Rita and I take a little shopping expedition and I look for a rain jacket that I can wear, in order to use the poncho solely to cover up my pack.
As I mentioned, finding something to fit me is not easy, but after 2 or 3 stores, I find a jacket that will do well, and it's on sale, so I snap it up. Since it is sprinkling again, I go ahead and wear it, and we find a cafe that is selling grilled skewers of marinated pork, so we decide to have a nice protein dinner, sitting in the drizzle under cafe umbrellas.
Toasting each other with Spanish wine, and nibbling on the perfectly cooked meat, we all agree that life is good on the Road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
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. Santo Domingo de la Calzada is another pleasant town, somewhat larger than some of the others, and it seems very pilgrim friendly. The "Santo Domingo" was a monk in the middle ages who founded a hospital for pilgrims where the cathedral is today.
This cathedral is actually connected to the albuergue where we find our bed for the night--in fact, the front part of where we walk in once WAS that hospital. When I step over the threshhold--and one must step up OVER it, it is into a cavernous area, almost stable-like. There is a smaller room, like a gift shop, off to the right where we go in and pay for our stay--donativo (donation) only. I pay 5 Euros. The office/shop is staffed by monks and one of them shows us up to the dorm area. I am quite happy when I see that due to the low ceilings in the room, there is no room for bunk beds! Everyone is on the ground and there are even storage shelves at each bed. Luxury! Of course, the bathrooms are miles away and down a flight of stairs, but I will worry about that in the middle of the night.
One snag--at the time we arrive, there seems to be a "water outage" in the town, so no flushing of toilets, etc. With 1 bathroom of 2 stalls for women and the same for men, to accommodate many pilgrims, this could get ugly soon. We decide to do a bit of sight seeing, and luckily by the time we get back, the situation has resolved. We go to the cathedral to pray and to look around. This is one of those places where the church has become more like a museum.
Apparently, there is a legend here about a young pilgrim who stopped here on his journey to Santiago. He stayed at an inn, and the innkeeper's daughter had "eyes" for him, but he, being a dutiful pilgrim, declined her advances. Scorned, the daughter put some of her father's belongings in the pilgrim's pack, and then when the loss was noticed, blamed the pilgrim for the theft. He was caught, returned to the town and executed.
Later, his parents having gotten word of what happened, they came to the town to retrieve their son's body. They appealed to the sheriff or lord at the time, who was at his dinner. He refused to give them the body, because it was already buried, stating, "Your son is as dead as this chicken on my plate!" Whereupon the chicken jumped up to life again and flew out the door! The parents rushed outside to discover their son, alive, and walking towards them.
Since then, the church has housed live chickens in a special cage (they are rotated every 4 hours), and if they crow when you are in the church, you will have good luck!
It seems that chicken has been a theme on this pilgrimage. The first place I stayed in in St. Jean was Le Chant du Coq, the Song of the Cock, or the Cock's Crow. My mother and I had this running joke about cooking chicken, which makes no sense to anyone but us, but all this chicken imagery on this journey makes me feel that much closer to her. It's just as if everything on this trip is meant to be, and no matter how it turns out, it will be just what I needed to have happen. It's an odd feeling, but it competely removes all of the pressure of making the trip "be" a certain way.
Later, I wander through the town a bit. I find a book shop/school supply store and buy a wonderful little Camino guidebook. It's in Spanish, which I can read well enough, but the best part is that 1) it's small enough to fit in my shirt pocket, and 2) it has maps with distances between towns and elevations of the walk. It is a complete jewel!
About this time, I start to feel hungry, and go into a small cafe, looking for lunch, but they don't have much left. The woman behind the counter tells me there is a restaurant just across the way, on the 2nd floor, so I go over and up the stairs. It's a nice little place, green and white checked tablecloths, and pink, rather frilly curtains. The decor seems rather incongruous to the clientele, which is made up entirely of working men, taking their noon day break. Apparently, women don't go out to lunch much in the smaller towns of Spain--at least not this restaurant. I am the only woman in the place, but the man who serves me is very polite and accommodating. He is willing to change a 50 Euro bill, even though I realize he has to send his wife out to do so. She is the one who brings me the change, and asks if everything was all right when she hands me the tray with the bills. I get the strong feeling that she wanted to come out to see this female pilgrim who would come into this place, alone, for a midday meal. I tell her everything was lovely, and we share a smile.
As we settle in, the clouds come over, and I experience the first rain storm since I have been in Spain. This one looks like it's going to be around for a while. There is thunder and lightening, and I try to plan out how I will get everything covered if it is raining tomorrow when we leave. I have brought a poncho, but I am not sure if it will fit over me AND all of my backpack, so when the rain lets up, Ingeborg, Rita and I take a little shopping expedition and I look for a rain jacket that I can wear, in order to use the poncho solely to cover up my pack.
As I mentioned, finding something to fit me is not easy, but after 2 or 3 stores, I find a jacket that will do well, and it's on sale, so I snap it up. Since it is sprinkling again, I go ahead and wear it, and we find a cafe that is selling grilled skewers of marinated pork, so we decide to have a nice protein dinner, sitting in the drizzle under cafe umbrellas.
Toasting each other with Spanish wine, and nibbling on the perfectly cooked meat, we all agree that life is good on the Road.
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