I am Jennifer Lopez

I met him in the bar last night; my chauffeur to Tabara. I was told he is an ex-police officer; the man in the blue shirt. I introduced myself. His friend who can speak a bit of English did all the talking. (This English consisted of 'you are Jennifer Lopez' delivered with a big smile and lifted eyebrows). The man in the blue shirt nods along; when he smiles he reveals an almost toothless grin. I didn't understand anything other than the line about Jennifer Lopez that is thrown in randomly between sentences. I think we are meeting at the bar this morning at 10 a.m. Or it might be 10 p.m. tonight. Time will reveal my understanding of the transaction made with the man in the blue shirt.

I have my legs elevated, resting, waiting. I saw Stacy, F (from South Africa) and M (from France) off early this morning. I can't walk today. The past two days I have been taking 600mg pills of ibuprofen, every 2 to 3 hours, and it is only dulling the pain. I've had shin splints before but this feels different. My leg is swollen and hot. Time to rest.

We reunited with F just past Salamanca and have laughed with her as we walked the past 120km. M has been nursing an injured foot. We haven't seen her since before Merida. We reunited with her yesterday in Granja de Morerela. As we walked to the bar attached to the albergue, we could hear Spanish words spoken with her distinct French accent and we ran in to greet her. So wonderful to be together again.

Except, of course, I won't walk today. Instead I will go to Tabara (I hope that's where the man in the blue shirt is taking me) rest and then prepare dinner for my friends who will walk the 32 km from Garanja to Tabara.

Today the road splits. If you walk to the right you join the camino Francese. We are staying to the left, continuing along the Via del la Plata.

As I look at my elevated leg I remember a phone call I received a few years ago. R, the mother of several handsome boys, had taken in A as a foster daughter. 'A' wanted to shave her legs but R, who is very fair in complexion, has never had to shave her legs and said she didn't know how. 'Can you explain to me Juli? I've noticed you are very hairy'.
I managed to keep my control just long enough to finish the phone call and then collapsed with laughter. As I look at my legs now I realize I could use some lessons in how to shave when you're sharing a bathroom with several people. Time, hot water, sticky moldy shower curtains all being a factor.

Hygiene standards fall under primitive circumstances. A washing machine is a luxury, and while one occasionally appears we usually wash our clothing in a sink. Hence they are never completely clean.

Tuesday I discovered real laundry soap at the albergue in Montamarta so I threw caution to the wind and washed all 4 pairs of my socks. Mistake! In the morning they were still wet. But, miracle of miracles (if you had seen this albergue you would understand how true the use of 'miracle' is in this instance), there was a microwave. Medium setting for 30 seconds at a time. Voila. Dry (and warm) pair of socks.

Back at the bar I am still waiting. Perhaps it is 10 p.m. that my ride will come? Me, Jennifer Lopez, and the man in the blue shirt.
If I make it to Tabara, I will return and report.

(Sevilla to Granja de Moreruela, 620.7 km...only 386.3 to Santiago!)

I'm Not Lost

I'm lying in bed. Albergue, Montamarta, Spain. I arrived at 1:30 p.m. after walking 18km from Zamora, laid down, and have hardly moved since. My right leg throbs with pain when I stand. So I'm not standing again until tomorrow morning.

The albergue here in Montamarta has a bad reputation. The review must have been written by someone who dislikes loud traffic sounds and hordes of flies. But it is a bed, and I'm not moving.

Stacy and I have discovered some things about ourselves as we walk.

Discovering our competitive side: 'You're leaving?' It was 6:30 a.m., still dark. Stacy had her head lamp on. I was dressed and ready to go too, but no head lamp (it was too heavy so I sent it to Santiago). The 7 men who stayed the same night as us in La Calzada De Bejar were still preparing for the day and eager for breakfast. As we passed the room lined with bunk beds (Stacy and I shared a private room) I raised my thumb in the air to J from Germany. 'J, today the Canadians win!' He smiled in comprehension. We were determined to get to the next stop before any of the men.

In the dark we set off. A little difficult to see the path and to spy any yellow arrows; but the stars! The stars were beautiful.

We walked as quickly as we could, passing through first one town and walking uphill towards the next. After an hour and a half of walking we spot J approaching, his steady gait unmistakable. Darn men and their long legs! J speaks german. Stacy and I could barely speak english at that moment, but we understood J's comment about the other men trying to get him to slow down so the Canadian girls could win. He was laughing, in good humor, as he passed us.

 He didn't show up later that day in Fuenterroble. I like to think it was because he wanted us to win. He doesn't know that true Canadians think 2nd place is a win!

Role Reversal:
Family trips, holidays, what ever, I am organized. A file folder with tickets, car rentals, restaurant research. I've searched out the place and have the hotel booked and paid for, attraction tickets purchased.

I get to Spain and my back pack is too heavy. One of the things I throw away is the guide for the Via Del La Plata. This isn't a problem as I also have an app on my i-Pod. But I've smashed my i-Pod and can barely read it.

I am relying on Stacy. She reads the route for the day and knows where we need to go. It is strange for me, in some ways, to relinquish so much control (even though I'm easy going). I have no idea where I am walking each day, or where we are stopping for the night. It is a joke (but also a real question) when Stacy and I make a toast each night and I ask:

'Where are we?'

Salamanca, Halfway to Santiago.

I'm lying below an acorn tree, my backpack as a pillow, resting for a moment on the journey to Salamanca. I'm excited to arrive in this ancient city, yet savoring the journey. Each step thoughtful, thankful.

Looking out across the hills, forested with acorn (bellota) trees, it feels like time has stopped. The sky is blue, cloudless, a light breeze blowing. And birds, chattering, whistling, cooing. The occasional moo of a cow. Natures chorus. I am at this moment at peace. Peace inside, peace outside.

In Fuenterroble we stayed at a Monastery run by Fr Blas. Payment is by donation only if one is able. All are welcome. There were 11 of us that night, and A from Milan gave us the gift of preparing an Italian dinner. (A is 70 yrs young, and walks twice as fast as me despite his feet that are plagued with blisters. He is charming and funny! He taught Stacy and his motto for walking "if it's not broken, you walk!")

Stacy and I were assigned the task of setting the table, gathering flowers (or whatever we could find) as centerpiece. This meant that Stacy enjoyed a glass of wine and supervised by saying 'good job Juli'; a division or labor that works for us and makes us both laugh.

The meal was delicious; doubly so because I knew that A was exhausted from walking that day yet he still wished to cook for all of us. (Although A is especially charming and kind, we meet and get to know people like him every day along the camino. This is one of the greatest gifts from walking.)

That night at dinner, in Feunterroble the conversation was lively; animated. I could understand very little of what was being said, catching a word here and there, but what translates always is the joy of coming together. The delight in resting after a day of walking. The pleasure of sharing a good meal. The laughter.

In Galisteo I had dinner with 4 Australians and an Italian. I realized that was the first time in almost a month that I'd sat at a table where the conversation was in english. That night was enjoyable but there is something wonderful added to the evening when I am forced to listen extra carefully to understand. There is almost always someone who translates in to English, or from English to French, German, Spanish, Italian.

But nobody has to translate the laughter. It is a universal language.

Last night in Salamanca we said farewell to C from Milano. He will return next year to walk from Salamanca to Santiago.

And we said arrivederci to our 2 Italian guardian angels.

The goodbyes are sad, but soon we will meet again.

Ah-Ha Moment on the road to Galisteo from Grimaldo

To ease back in to walking Stacy and I head off from Canaveral to Grimaldo. 8 km. Paths through beautiful pine forest. A few hills. My shins were fine.

We arrived in to Grimaldo before lunch and head to the albergue where we are greeted by two women.

'Limpios' says the first lady as she loads blankets in to the washing machine.

'Chinchi's' says the second woman as she mimes picking bugs off her skin.

'No, no, limpios' says the first as she leads us to what she tells us is the cleanest room.

The second lady is still saying 'chinchi's' and picking at the invisible bugs on her arms.

This is repeated several times, always with big smiles on their faces. The first lady, who still insists that everything is clean, shows us to our room and then adds;
'Don't touch the blankets. I have not washed the chinchi's yet. They will be good. Limpios."

At this point we were laughing. Is the albergue limpio or are there chinchi's? Clean, or bed bugs? It is 20km to the next town. I feel good but I know 20 more km is too much for me today. So we stay. We'll know if the albergue is limpios or a host for chinchi's by morning. This is truly embracing the camino life!

At 6:30 a.m. the next morning I leaped from my bed and started to get ready to leave for Galisteo. I was so happy it was morning, laying awake most of the night sure I was crawling with bugs, listening to happy party voices from a village party for the first half of the night and then intermittent snoring the remainder of the night. Add to the mix a bed that was more like a hammock than a bed. (But it was free!) So when I leaped from bed it was because I was SO HAPPY that the miserable night was over! It was okay to move around as everyone would now be rising for the day.

I also felt happy because I'd received an email, during the night, from a friend who is fighting cancer. Finally a bit of hope. She tells me that when she is in remission she would like to go on a walk (or some other adventure) with me.

I hadn't slept, I was sure I was covered in bed bug bites (I'm not)...really, the worst night of 'sleep' I've had since...I don't know when. But I am happy. I realized that it is a tragedy to waste this day (or any day) wishing for another day to come.

In the cafe, my fellow peligrinos, who have also had a miserable night in uncomfortable beds that smell of insecticide, are not smiling. Everyone is tired. A little, shall we say, grumpy? I am still happy but have a feeling my good mood is not appreciated. I can hear my daughter's voice, a memory of many mornings, when she will say, (or her look will say) 'take it down a notch Mom'. I occasionally get this same look from Stacy.

As we head off for Galisteo I am trying to 'take it down a notch', but I am still so happy about my friend and everything around me is beautiful (it really was). And I am exhausted. When I am exhausted I become ridiculous. I laugh at everything.

Somewhere along the road to Galisteo I drop my i-Pod and the screen smashes. Stacy looks at my smashed i-Pod and then at me and says 'if you say anything positive about this I am going to smash you over the head with my walking stick!'

And thus the realization! I am completely annoying in the morning. My kids tell me this but that is only 7 opinions, hardly what one would call solid evidence.

And so I am trying to not be so happy in the morning. I hold off telling Stacy my 'profound thoughts about the Camino' until we've been walking at least 3 hours. It doesn't work very well, but I'm trying.

Canaveral

Senor Guapisimo (I don't know his real name, so this will do) opened the 10 foot high wooden door and invited us to enter the grand room, the entrance hall of a Casa Rural, Posada La Campana. The ceiling was 20 feet high. A small trestle table to the left, a coat of arms, and antique mirrors and chairs line the walls. A cascade of stairs, carved from stone, flow down from the upper floor, and spill in a rounded curve at the base.

While Stacy signed the register I took in the atmosphere. As a lover of all things old, historic, antique, I was thinking 'this will do!'

Senor handed over the keys and left. We were the ladies of the manor, the sole occupants. Exploring, we opened doors off the grand entrance; a sitting room, a formal dining room, and a kitchen tiled in blue and white. Another set of stairs led to a stained glass door and a private courtyard. Upstairs a long hallway was the gateway to a dozen rooms, each more charming than the next, and all furnished with antiques.

Settled in to our 'new' home we decided to celebrate by cooking dinner and enjoying an evening 'in'. Why go out when immersed in a surreal atmosphere?

By the end of our meal of gazpacho, pistou, salad and local vino tinto the decision was made. We were staying, at least until Senor Guapisimo forced us to leave (and it would have to be by force). We would write fictional blog updates sharing our impressions of the camino, all the while living quite comfortably and happily in Canaveral.

 Things change (as they often do) in the middle of the night.

I had been in a deep, drug induced, sleep (pain killers and sleeping pill) when I woke with a start. Something was wrong. I lay still, listening. There it was again. Creak. Floorboards. Silence. Creak. The kind of sound when someone is trying to not make any sound but the floor is working against them. At first I thought someone else had checked in, but as it had been almost 10 p.m. when we went to bed, this was not likely.

Was that a shadow? Creak. Now I was certain someone was creeping along the hallway. I reached across the bed to see if Stacy was asleep. (Okay, here is one of the really good things about being a girl. Despite access to a dozen bedrooms we didn't even consider sleeping in separate rooms. Maybe we face our unspoken fear of being alone in a big house by saying it's more fun to share a room?)

When I reached across the bed I confirmed that Stacy was present and asleep. If I alerted her, even in a whispered voice, I would risk the intruder becoming aware that someone was awake and possibly decrease the time I had to prepare our defense.

Quietly, I reached up and slid the skeleton key from the keyhole, leaped from the bed and pushed the door shut all in one motion. I threw the bolt and then leaped back on to the bed. I was expecting banging on the door to commence within seconds.

Stacy was still asleep.

 Though the door was thick and heavy I realized we might still have to make an escape through our window and out onto the slanted clay tiled roof. I shook Stacy awake and let her know someone was in the house. "I'm worried about our boots. They're outside our door. And don't go walking in the hall in your underwear". (It all made sense in the middle of the night).

We both laid awake listening. I was armed with the big skeleton key from our door. (I guess I was going to key our intruder).

Outside the wind blew. And rattled the windows. And made the floorboards creak.

'It's just the wind. Go back to sleep' Stacy said and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

We left early the next morning.