Summary from day 1 to 13!

Day 1. (6/28) SJPP>Roncesvalles. 27 km.

The beginning, the Pyrennees, the first Pilgrim meal. The day you become a pilgrim, though you don't know what it means yet.

Day 2. (6/29) Roncesvalles>Zubiri. 21.5km. 

The second day of discovery. Your legs are adjusting, your feet too. You meet people you have crossed in Roncesvalles and you start realizing that you all share something special. Maybe it's just the hurting legs or the blisters. Soon you realize it is something else. You're on the same road, and though you know where it is going, you're not sure what it will bring you.

Day 3. (6/30) Zubiri>Pamplona. 22km.

First contact as a pilgrim with a large city. To add to the cultural "shock", on a Sunday. People are out with families, chilling, and you're just looking for yellow arrows and a pilgrim's menu. Pamplona is nice but empty on a Sunday. The only thing to do is enjoy una cerveza con limon with Hemingway and walk where the bulls will run for the encierro. 

Day 4. (7/1) Pamplona>Mañeru. 29km.

First day with no pain to the knee. I celebrated by walking an extra 5km after the suggested stop. Enjoyed the beautiful landscapes of Navarra.

Day 5. (7/2) Mañeru>Villamayor del Jardin. 26km.

Slow day today, marked by two important events: finding the wine fountain of Irache and joining a charming young Irish couple to walk with. Beautiful landscapes continue.

Day 6. (7/3) Villamayor del Jardin > Torres del Rio. 20.6km.

Lovely walk with my new Irish friends. As it would turn out, the last one we will do together though we still follow each other via Facebook.

Day 7. (7/4) Torres del Rio > Navarrete. 33km.

Today I left the hills of Navarra for the vineyards of la Rioja.

After a disappointing encounter with an urban environment, I decided to leave Logroño behind today and pushed to the quiet town of Navarrete. Found a beautiful little church there and later enjoyed a few pinchos with a CcL (cerveza con limon, my new beverage of choice after finding that red wine disturbed my sleep). A quiet afternoon & night. 

Day 8. (7/5) Navarrete > Nájera. 18km.

Snores from my Dutch co-sleepers keeping me up at night and the heat of the day made it impossible for me to go past Nájera. There I found an albergue and slept for about 2-3 hours. This is when I decided to start all my days at 5am (start walking at approximately 5:30am) to avoid the heat, which now starts earlier and earlier, around 11am. After my nap, I visited the Museo Arceologico de Nájera, and then the Monasterio.  

Day 9. (7/6) Nájera > Santo Domingo de la Calzada. 21km.

Today I passed the 200km mark since the beginning of the trip. I walked most of  today with a Spanish pilgrim from Burgos. Also, upon my arrival in Santo Domingo, I encountered the first people I met on my camino the first night in Roncesvalles. A lovely Spanish couple with a little boy the age of my son. Our paths crossed several times until I finally lost track of them after day 3. It was nice to see them again. It was as if I was finding old friends though we have only shared sleeping quarters a couple of times and also shared a road.

In Santo Domingo, I visited the Cathedral which was quite nice.

Day 10. (7/7) Santo Domingo de la Calzada > Belorado. 23km.

Today, the Spanish pilgrim encountered yesterday has decided to join me again. As much as I have enjoyed the company of my fellow compañeros de camino, fellow peregrinos, especially because I have been alone most of the time, today I have found myself looking for solitude. However, for precisely this reason, because on the camino pilgrims come and go, I have decided to enjoy the company while it was there. 

Belorado is a nice little town with two churches (one for Winter, one for Summer) and has the unique distinction of housing a sort of camino "walk of fame" with foot and hand prints of various local or international "celebrities", among which the two people who, as trivial as it sounds, are partially responsible for my trip, actor Martin Sheen and his son Emilio Estevez who directed The Way. Then, I enjoyed a quiet Spanish Sunday, drinking agua gaseosa con limon, a non-alcoholic variation of the CcL, eating a tortilla con morcilla de Burgos. Glad I'm walking so much or I would gain 10lbs!

Day 11. (7/8) Belorado > San Juan de Ortega. 24km.

I have come to the conclusion today that the Michelin dude has never walked the camino. His little green (easy), yellow (medium), red (difficult) symbols to indicate how difficult the etapa is is at best a distant suggestion. 

The trail between Belorado and San Juan is at first very pleasant. You have to climb a little, but then are rewarded by a shady forest which is quite a change from the Rioja fields you have now been crossing for days. Then as you continue walking, the forest path turns into a vast clearing resembling more a highway under construction than anything else. And it's LONG. And because some pilgrims are either ahead or behind, you are alone, at noon, in the heat, in this chalky endless highway reflecting the light (and the heat), and you start to wonder who will find your carcass if bad luck chose to strike right here and then. Unpleasant thoughts though they may be, and joke aside, it was the difficult part of the etapa today, but as a good peregrina that I have become, I put one foot in front of the other and arrived to San Juan de Ortega. There, I dropped my (living) carcass onto an albergue bed and fell asleep in minutes. Only to find out an hour later that the pueblo of San Juan de Ortega consists of one street, one bar and one church. So after having a lovely lunch/dinner in the one bar with a trio a Spanish elders, I went to walk on the one street, then went to the one church for a benediction of the pilgrims (that can't hurt, right?) and then back to the one bar for a cerveza con limon. With nothing else to do than drink and pray, I did a bit of both. On with more gusto than the other. (I'll let you guess which one).

Day 12. (7/9) San Juan de Ortega > Burgos. 30km. (via the river)

Long walk before entering the city if you take the road not suggested by the Michelin guy. The recommended route (27.5km) goes through the industrial area, so you follow the recommendations of the locals to take the road that circles the airport to the South. Then follows the river. And is an extra 3 kilometers. Because that is exactly what you want to do after walking 27km. To add a few more. Just for fun, for kicks. 

But when you arrive in Burgos, actually arrive, zombie-style, you are rewarded by the beautiful cathedral, a modern albergue and a nice meal. And lest we forget las yemas de Burgos. (A sweet confection made of egg yoke and sugar. Yum.)

Day 13. (7/10) Burgos > Hontanas. 32km.

Coming out of Burgos, you're happy to realize you are still in fact on the camino, as there are hardly any yellow arrows or visible shells anywhere. Then you cross a few pueblos with nothing distinctive about them other than the fact that they have food, drink and restrooms you can use. Then between Hornillos del Camino (20km de Burgos) and Hontanas (12km), you get an early idea of what the meseta will be like. Seas of wheat fields dancing in the wind, hardly any shade; you start counting your water. Only it will be hotter.  

Today also marked 300km since SJPP.

Signs of the Camino and the Pilgrim Jet-lag

Camino sign in Pamplona

A pilgrim on the Camino is on a mission: to reach Santiago.

While there are many caminos that lead there, once you have chosen a path, it is better to stick to it. 

To help the pilgrim, there are many signs scattered here and there, telling him exactly where to go. Without these signs, the pilgrim, an obedient animal, is lost: "Should have I turned right before? Maybe left?" Such is the fate of the pilgrim in urban areas or when any fork on the road is not well-marked.

A peregrino on the Camino is always on the look-out for these signs: a yellow arrow, a small (or big) pile of rocks, a shell, be it the standard yellow on blue Camino icon or a metallic shell on the pavement. All are signs that the pilgrim recognizes and follows religiously (some more so than others).

The same kind of obedience holds true for schedule. The pilgrim (most of them these days) follows a strict schedule. Up anywhere between 4 and 6am (6 being the standard), the pilgrim leaves between 7 and 8, walks, walks and walks some more (some take breaks, some don't) then at some point between 2 and 5pm (depending on rhythm, fatigue, enthusiasm and other factors), pilgrims find an albergue for the night. Then it's the  pilgrim's dinner at 7pm, and lights out at 10pm. 

Combine these two elements and you will find strange-looking, disheveled individuals, walking more like zombies than human (living) beings on Sunday afternoon in Pamplona, looking up, down and all-around for signs of the Camino or the nearest albergue. Worst, they will be looking for a menú del peregrino which they will never find. Because the pilgrim, even though he is in Spain, is not of Spain. He is of the Camino. In Spain, you eat dinner at 9pm. Too late for a pilgrim. When the pilgrim has walked for an hour already, the Spaniard is barely waking up. The pilgrim jet-lag can be the source of confusion to both parties. Unlike the tourist, the pilgrim may not enjoy big cities because it interrupts his camino routine. First he longs for a heart-warming, home-made meal sitting at a table with other pilgrims, sharing stories and adventures of the day, swapping data ("Where did you start?" "Where are you going tomorrow?" "How are your feet?"). This is where the pilgrim finds "home" and his family of sorts. Eating tapas with locals or tourists alike in a crowded terrace (even if Hemingway himself sat there) is not the pilgrim's cup of tea. And then, the following day, he gets lost trying to escape the urban tentacles of the metropolis. 

But then, he sees the signs, and finds his way, clearly marked; the way that leads him, slowly yet irrevocably, all the way to Santiago.

July 1, 2013.

Mañeru, Navarra.

Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

Day One. Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port > Roncevalles

Distance: 27km

Blisters (Ampoules): zero

Painful limbs (Parties du corps qui font mal): all. (Toutes)

Well, I apparently made it over the Pyrenees. By all standards, it was a strange day. 

Exhilarated by the beginning of the journey, I started off at SJPP at 8:30am. But I noticed that I was walking as if I was getting my morning baguette; there is nothing special about the way the Camino starts (then again, what was I expecting? Bright neons lighting the way like airport landing lines? Duh.) Still, it was so "normal" in fact that within minutes I asked a local if I was "on the right road". To this, he busted out laughing, asking me rightly, "It depends. The road to where? There are many roads here!" His work companion assured me that I was indeed on the right way to Santiago.

And with this encounter, my Camino started.

The first part is all on paved road, next to cars. Not pleasant but in the morning hours, there are only farmers going about their morning routine. About 2 hours into the walk, you enter "the Green Space." Your feet and legs thank the Camino for this soft green cushion on which you are now walking. And they should be happy! A steep climb of 1200 meters (non-metric people, get your act together and get used to the idea: the world is metric!) over a distance of 20 kilometers gave these poor limbs their day's work-out.

A strange day also because between not feeling your legs or feeling them to much, your mind starts to wander. It wanders so much in fact that you end up in the strangest places at the strangest times. And for a minute, or ten, you completely forget what you are doing or where you are (or where you are going for that matter). Which would be ok if your legs didn't tell you "time to stop" and the Camino markers responded "not a chance!" So on you go, up you go, up, up, and up again. 

Then around 8 km before you arrive (this is 19 km post-departure (about 6 hours walk), by virtue of (real) food depravation (beef jerky, countless almonds and 3 KIND bars hardly qualify as a meal, no matter how you look at it.), your mind starts to play tricks on you. Like a mirage in the desert, you start smelling melted chocolate to make a mousse. Then you picture yourself at a supermarket picking up a can of cassoulet (of all things!) Then you really think you've lost it. 

But again, on you go. One foot in front of the other. However slowly, regardless of the many stops you take (even one nap!), slowly, you get closer.

And you make it.

Everything else, the pictures will show: beautiful landscapes, all kinds of animals enjoying the pastures (cows with bells, sheep with bells, even horses with bells!)

Moments where you stop and you get so lost in the landscape, you simply don't move and you think that you could in fact stay here for a while, lost in the middle of nowhere. With just the mind floating with the clouds that you could almost touch, up there on the mountain.

But somehow, you get up, or maybe it's the chilling Pyrenean wind telling you "time to go" and you start walking again.

On, and up, and on, then down, and on.

Then you make it.

And you're happy.

Awaiting

Camino-2.

All is ready.

The only thing now standing between the Camino and me is a train, an overnight family visit and a short car ride between Biarritz and St-Jean-Pied-de-Port (SJPP) on Friday June 28.

To say that I am impatient would be putting it mildly. Impatience mixed with a pinch to the heart at the thought of leaving my children for over a month, but all in all, relief and serenity at finally spending some time with myself. This is long overdue.

The plan as it stands tonight is to start walking as soon as I get to SJPP on Friday. I am not sure what time that will be yet.

In order to preserve my knees for as long as possible (I fully expect my left knee to give me all kinds of trouble), I have decided to cross the Pyrenees in two takes. The first stop will be in the Refuge Orisson, about 8km from SJPP. The following day to Roncesvalles for the remaining 18km should then be a little easier. Of course, I may also feel good enough to do the whole 27km in one stretch.

We’ll see.

I am not setting myself any objectives, other than finish on both feet, still breathing, at Santiago, before August 5. That is it.

My next post will be from the Camino, Day one.

One month

In one month, I'll be heading to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in Southern France.
I have almost everything I need: backpack, hiking boots, hiking socks, and a few items that a multitude of Camino forums have indicated as essentials for survival on the Camino.

While I may still have few things to get to fill my pack, I am as ready as I'm ever going to get emotionally. It will be hard to leave my children behind, of course, yet I know that this trip is what I must do. This pilgrimage has become more than just a dream; over the past few months, it has grown into a necessity.

It all started with a movie. A desire to disconnect one evening from the mayhem of a dysfunctional relationship that was drawing to an end. In the midst of this life changing event that I was fully emerged in, a breath of air coming from Spain. A path to an unknown that was holding the promise of clarification, if not enlightenment. I was leaving to stop and reflect on the past 10 years, and I had found no better way to "stop" than to walk for 500 miles.

So here I am. One month pre-camino. Eager to start my path. My camino. I was uncertain what I would make of it, but was sure of one thing, and one thing only. This was the only path back to myself.

Credencial del Peregrino

Of walking and connecting

Strolling Downtown Manhattan yesterday, as the sun shone its first Spring rays onto tourists and Manhattanites alike, I wondered about the swarming crowd surrounding me.
What the tourists felt. What they saw.
What the busy lawyers and financiers felt. What they saw.
How strange it was that they were brought together by a few street names and high-rise buildings.
As I was walking later in the rain, down Ocean Parkway, on one of Brooklyn's main traffic arteries, I thought about my upcoming Camino walk. I had been walking for a few hours already, since I left Downtown Manhattan, and surely my reflection was partially the product of a delirium induced by hurting limbs. But as I was alone on that four-lane boulevard, amid honking cars and screaming children, I thought about the path. The way. The Camino itself. How I will walk onto a path that countless others had walked before me and that countless others will walk after me. And because we are all strangers coming together on that one path for the same objective --reach Santiago de Compostela-- although for different reasons, we are all connected.
That path is a lifeline linking all peregrinos, whatever their age, their nationality, their religion or even their motivation to inflict this painful journey onto themselves. A lifeline which connects us even beyond Spanish borders.
The streets of New York City are harsh. Harsh for the feet (though I am quite happy with my hiking shoes, I must say), harsh for the mind (try relaxing when regular honking wakes you from philosophical wanderings). I also find New York City harsh for humans. About 8 to 10 millions of us live in close proximity of one another. I am not sure how many people crossed my path yesterday, but certainly a few hundred. Not one spoke to me. In New York City, I guess we all come together to see "New York City". But very few of us from the human tribe actually connect with one another in this beehive of a city. And this, connecting, is partially the reason why I will be walking come July 2013. Not only to (re)connect with the human tribe, but also to reconnect with nature, and ultimately, myself.
Yesterday's walk was a small sample of what is to come, though it was not in the best conditions. For example, I realized that one of the most annoying and tiring things you can do when your legs are hurting the way they can be after an already 3-hour long walk is stopping. As long as your legs are carrying you, you are rolling. And the most difficult thing is stopping. Anyone cares to venture a guess how many streets you have to cross if you're walking down Ocean Parkway from Prospect Expressway? If I tell you the cross streets start with Avenue C and go all the way to the end of the alphabet, this gives you an idea... (in fact, I crossed 40 streets on Ocean Parkaway alone) Many times I got lucky with the little green guy telling me it was ok not to stop (though I always looked both ways nonetheless--with those crazy New York drivers, you can never be too careful). But as I was getting closer to Avenue Z, the pain of stopping and starting again grew exponentially more difficult.
Upon my arrival in Coney Island/Brighton Beach, I decided to add a few extra steps and finish my adventure on the Riegelmann Boardwalk all the way back home. There, I was greeted by a beautiful sunset light and a peaceful ocean. The light shone beautifully onto the North shore of Breezy Point beach clearly visible in the quiet evening light.

Brighton Beach/Coney Island Beach (Brooklyn)
looking onto Breezy Point (Queens)

I had made it. My first trial at walking some 20 straight kilometers.
Later at home, I did not make it past 9pm, exhausted that I was from my day. As I lay in bed for a few minutes before sweetly falling into a healing slumber, I fast forwarded one last time to my first night in an albergue in late June. Wondering what I will feel then. Surely hurting, sore and yes, exhausted.
But also strangely at peace.

Riegelmann Boardwalk

PS. 3:30am. Awake some 6 hours later. If this is my natural rythm, I should be able to start my daily walk before 5am, which is ideal if you want to escape the sorching heat of Spain in July.
Let's wait and see...

Resources

• The Way. Dir. Emilio Estevez. 2010

• Immortelle randonnée. Compostelle malgré moi. Jean-Christophe Rufin. Guérin, 2013.
• En avant, route! Alix de Saint-André. Gallimard, 2010.
• Compostelle. Carnet de route d'un pélerin et son abécédaire du Chemin. Luc Adrian. Presses de la Renaissance, 2010.
• A Pilgrim's Guide to the Camino de Santiago. John Brierley. 9th Ed. Findhorn Press, 2012.
• The Pilgrimage.  A contemporary quest for ancient wisdom. Paulo Coelho. HarperOne, 1995.