Letters To

I’m After my nap, as with all pilgrims, it seems, I decided to talk a walk.  I laughed about this a lot with many fellow pilgrims, that we walked all day, arrived hot, sweaty and exhausted to a place of refuge and once we had the trail dust washed off of us, what did we do?  More walking!  But, what else does one do if one wants to see a bit of the city?  I tried to find an internet cafe, but the place was packed and the woman running it was a complete grouch.  I decided not to waste my time.  Instead, I wandered a little bit around the hostal, looking at the architechture, and trying to place myself in relation to the cathedral.  Little by little, I worked my way back toward the cathedral, taking some lesser traveled streets, enjoying the cooler air, getting my bearings.  At no time during this trip did I ever feel lost or out of place.  I'm sure the walking stick, well worn clothes, dusty shoes and big hat gave me away, but the entire time ...

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...

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...

Soon it is time to catch the bus. Having missed a train in France, I am now paranoid about getting on whatever form of transportation that I've chosen that's going in the right direction at the right time. We see a number of buses come and go, but the people who are waiting assure us that ours is yet to come. We go across the road where the buses come in and sit on a concrete bench around a flagpole, so we can see the buses come in. Shortly, we see ours arrive, and get in line. We have our little printed receipts that are our tickets. The bus is like a big tour bus, and the seats are pretty comfy, with high backs. They actually recline. I realize we are not going very far, less than 12 miles, but it's nice to have such a cushy ride! In no time it seems, but what would have been another days' walk for us, we are at our destination. It is still early afternoon, still warm. We depart our bus, get our packs and start to look for the alburgue. Ingeborg jokes that it might ...

We wake early in Lorca. Night before, some of the folks staying in the alburgue helped Ramon cook a dinner of spaghetti with chorizo and peppers, and a salad. After the day I'd had, it was heaven. I'm still not used to how DARK it is in the mornings here. Our 4th person in the room, a long, lean Frenchwoman, is out of the room and gone while the rest of us are struggling to come awake. There is the usual jockeying for the bathroom, this time right outside our door. Rita and I are ready very shortly, and decide to start on to the next town, Villatuerta, while Ingeborg finishes packing, etc. In no time, we are gone from Lorca, and seeking the trail in the near-dark. Fortuately, it's not hard to follow, even in dimness. As we near the highway, we meet up with our French roommate, coming back--it seems that she left one of her hiking poles in the room and did not want to abandon it. All I can think of is having to walk any part of this road twice is so discouraging! Slowly, bit...