Places I Have Left Behind

Travel can be therapeutic and instructive...if only to point out places you would rather avoid.

In Spain when you enter a town the name appears on a sign in a conventional way. When you leave the same name appears but this time has a red slash through it, as if to say, "Enough of this place" or perhaps "I'm finished with you."

One does wonder about the implications of settling down permanently in Revenga...or perhaps it is better just to keep on walking.

The award for nasty place names visited on this trip is unquestionably, Carrion de Los Condes but at least it is accompanied by a good story. It seems that El CID married of a few of his daughters to counts living in the region and heard reports that they were being mistreated by their new husbands. According to legend he swept in, killed the counts and had their bodies tied to trees, leaving carrion for the condors.

Waltzing the camino

I am resolved to strive for a lightness of foot in the accomplishment of this journey. Mornings are easier in that department. My goal is to walk about 28 km on average. I try not to trudge or plod or otherwise demonstrate a less than positive attitude by my walking style.

I try for a straight walk with no wobble..friendly and purposeful. Along about noon however, the tiredness, the weight of the pack, the heat of the feet start to alter attitude.

Why am I doing this? Where is that damn village anyway?

Waltzing does the trick. Initially I chose march tunes or at least ones with a 4/4 beat. Marching is fine. Once when entering a little town feeling half dead and definitely bedraggled, I hummed Colonel Bogey's March under my breath. Immediately, my stride lengthened, shoulders went back and head lifted. With the music's help I think I made a reasonable entrance. That said, marching does have overtones and I do wish to come in peace.

That's when I thought about waltzing...I thought about "Mockingbird Hill" as played by Minetta Gill, a musical force at the little country church of my childhood. Whenever we had church fundraising suppers, folks would come from far and wide, buy their tickets, and then head upstairs to the sanctuary for the musical stylings of Minetta Gill. At intervals she would stop for announcements that ticket holders with certain numbers could go to the church basement to eat.

She had a solid repertoire that included My Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown but nothing could touch her Mockingbird Hill. When śhe attacked the keys, those tra-la-las and twiddly-dee-dees took full treble flight.

I delight in her musical gifts to me and imagine, 60 years later on dusty path in Spain, she is still giving.

The gift of community

Last night I was blessed to stay at the pilgrim albergue in Belicarios. Like many of these spots, the employees are volunteer hospitalerios. They greet guests, collect fees and donations, give sello stamps, assign accommodations, answer questions, clean, etc. At this particular albergue, the initial welcome included a piece of juicy melon and a big cup of water.

Pilgrims were invited to be part of a communal dinner. Donations of money, preparation, or cleanup welcomed.

Potato and onion peeling for the chorizo stew.

The fruit salad is chopped

At 7:30 we eat outside together in the twilight

Later we gather to watch the sunset, reflect on our own journey, and enjoy the chance to be together. This ability to create community is a complex and valuable gift. Sometimes it just needs a little nudge. I am resolved to put some effort into community building in my condo.

Just me and my shadow

One of the great parts of the camino is being outside most of the day....being recalibrated to the rhythms of each day. I particularly like striding along with my tall shadow in the early morning.

I walk predominantly west so I chase my shadow all morning and he shrinks a little with every passing minute. I am learning to estimate the time by looking at my shadow.

The morning light was so sharp, I made these self portraits.

 

A magical concert under the stars

Yesterday I dropped my lovely little solar powered flash light and it fell part and I put it back together as best I could and clipped it to my backpack to recharge. Alas pieces fell off as I walked and as I later explained to 3 male German pilgrims who like to start at 6 am in the starry darkness, "Mein lampe ist kaput."

They generously indicated with smiles and gestures that I should join them. Hans is 70 and sweetly shy.

 

For the most part they keep company with other and smile at the rest of us. They somewhat opt out of the unending game of charades that is part of the multi-lingual conversations at the albergues.

With full pack and varied terrain my goal is to travel 4 km per hour. I need 7 or 8 hours with the feet actually moving. After 2 pm the siesta-inspiring sun is no fun to walk in. That cool morning time before the sun gets up is both efficient and magical. We left at 6 am under a starry dome with fingernail moon. They all trained their lamp light on the path ahead of me. They matched their pace to mine and in truth we flew.

Then they started to sing hymns. I recognized some of the tunes and hummed along. The air was cool and life was better than good.

We arrived at the next town at sun- up just as the cafe con leche was ready and the roosters were crowing.

A pilgrim's blessing

Tonight I attended a pilgrim's blessing in the lovely church around the corner from the albergue in Villasirga.At the 7 pm mass the setting sun came flooding in the west window lighting the altar.

There were 8 pilgrims from Germany, USA and Canada. A lady read from St. Pablo (St. Paul) and I tried, unsuccessfully, to follow along but snatched the odd word. At the end the priest invited the pilgrims up to the front and blessed us and admonished us to care for one another along the trail. The priest asked each of us to state our country and city. The other Canadian, a white-haired man, was also from Toronto and when it came to my turn, he responded with "go leafs go."

Here is a sculpture of a local mayor remembered as a medieval pilgrim in the square outside the church.

Note the fortress quality of the church built by the Templars. That little window was perfectly aligned for the today's setting sun.

8 hours to Villalcazar de Sirga

I am the Tortuga, slow and steady, but I am mightily proud of my 28 kilometers today. I think I walked well starting at 5:53 in the starry darkness and finishing at 1:52 just as the Spanish sun announces siesta time.

I take lots of breaks and I felt that this giant bale of straw that fell off a wagon by the roadside was meant for me. By the way, I am always startled by the number of folks who do not know the difference between hay and straw...not that an urban person would have much chance to acquire that knowledge nor would they have much use for it. Still I am seized by a kind of shocked pity for them. Do you folks out there have different examples of such.

Watching the sunrise is one of the daily delights.

I seem to travel at 3.5 km. per hour. Mother never wanted me to travel with a fast crowd and it seems her wish has been granted.