Letters To

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...

I described a little bit of this day in this previous post , but now I'll write a more detailed version of my day after leaving Puente la Reina. We wake up in our large dorm to our host flip-flopping across the floor and flipping on the bright, overhead, fluorescent lights. Okay, no sleeping late here! Almost immediately, the usual rustle and bustle begins. We are up and packing, heading to the bathrooms to brush teeth, wash faces, etc. Checking to make sure we have all our clothes that we washed last night and that they are, with luck, dry enough to pack. I overhear some American voices, and ask a woman if she knows if there's an ATM nearby in the town. She gives me some rather vague directions, but I think I'll be able to find it when I get across the bridge. Once we've got ourselves all together, we go to the dining area for a coffee. People are coming and going, heading out and down the hill, even though at the moment it is not yet light. We linger a bit over the co...