The True Grit of True Pilgrims

Doucement

Écouter le corps

Tranquille

These are instructions that M, from Bordeaux, France, gave to me as we walked together. M had designated herself to be my walking coach, to slow me down so that my legs and feet could heel. Stacy, a gazelle, was sent ahead with F, from South Africa (another gazelle). Thus I spent two days walking with M, speaking only French, and learning to 'listen to my body, listen to my feet. Tranquille! Doucement!' And occasionally, when I would wonder ahead, daydreaming, and miss a yellow directional arrow (flèche jaune) I would hear a whistle and 'Julia', as M called me down to earth and back to the camino. It had not occurred to me that I would become more proficient with French while in Spain!

This morning, when I woke in the albergue in Puebla de Sanabria (Casa Luz) I realized my feet and legs, for the first time in several days, did not hurt! Waking Stacy it was my turn to say 'let's go' Je suis prêt.

The walk today, from Puebla de Sanabria, to Padornela was only 25km, but it was for the most part up hill and through beautiful forest. It was somewhat rainy and cold but the surroundings so beautiful that we did not mind the weather.

As we head north the weather continues to become more chill, and we find ourselves wearing several layers of clothes in an attempt to stay warm. The landscape also continues to change...fist farmers fields, crops ready to harvest; then forests, the deciduous trees adorning their fall finery, then with the aid of the wind carpeting the forest floor with gold and crimson.

We came to a crossroad today. The official route headed up a mountain trail, but signs had been placed in front, and directional arrows guided pilgrims to stay upon the carretera (a paved road way, usually a major highway). Not to be deterred by a sign of little walking stick-man with a slash over top, we decided to head over the mountain. This decision led to a an utterance by Stacy that has likely never been heard before (and is not likely to be heard again): "Wow! We're in a blasting zone! Fun!"

Fortunately (but unfortunate for Spain) much of the major road work that began over the past few years has come to a screeching halt. So we encountered no one (and no dynamite) as we traversed a rather unpredictable (but beautiful) path today.

Though we didn't know where we were most of the day, and imagined even emerging somewhere in Portugal, we were very impressed when we emerged from the forest in Padornela; our planned destination.

Maybe we are true pilgrims after all?

Stacy Embraces The Camino Life

"Wake up Sweetie! It's time to walk."

Two weeks ago that would have been me saying these words, at 6:45 a.m., while Stacy hit the snooze button on her phone 'just one more time".

This is another reversal in our roles.
This morning it was Stacy saying it was time to wake up. I didn't have a snooze button to hit but I did ask plaintively "can't we take a car like normal people?"

Stacy has become a true pilgrim, embracing the experience, turning off her phone so that the outside world cannot reach her and interrupt her thoughts, her transformation. Her writing is more tactile, in a journal, her thoughts more private. She is quiet as she walks, more moved each day by the experiences we are having; even telling me the scenery yesterday, on the way to Tabara, moved her to tears.

I was impressed. First of all, she's obviously drinking enough water and no longer dehydrated. But more importantly, that the beauty we are surrounded by has now reached her. In the beginning she said she would take a ride in a strangers car as long as the person didn't look 'too dangerous'; now, she has become a self-described 'camino nazi', absolutely determined to walk every single step to Santiago. I feel really proud of her. And protective.

As we walk to Granja I lost sight of her. I called her name, but no answer. A police car whizzed by at that moment and my over-active imagination went straight to Stacy having been hit by a car, the police on their way, her struggling to alert the rescue help that I would be looking for her. I pulled off my backpack and dug out my phone. Three calls, all of them from Stacy. And a text: "come back!".

Sick, I started hurrying back to where I had last seen Stacy, horrified that I'd abandoned her and she'd been hurt. I should have known better than to let her out of my sight!

As I approached where I was sure Stacy would be I was relieved to see that there wasn't emergency vehicles lined up along the road; and in fact, there was Stacy, alive and well on the other side of the road, waving her walking stick to catch my attention, and laughing.

"You missed the yellow arrow, but you didn't hear me call to you."

I was so relieved! We've become rather dependent upon one another. Yesterday while I rested in Tabara, Stacy walked with M and F. Yes I made it to Tabara. Señor blue-shirt was very nice, spoke a bit of french and we got on just fine. I did however give Señor a kiss on both cheeks once he safely delivered me to Tabara!) Knowing Stacy was walking with other people who care about her helped me to rest easy, but I missed her. I even missed the annoyed looked she gives me in the morning when I talk too much (I'm getting better). I missed the laughs we share once she finally wakes up, at about 11 a.m.

Today I rose from bed when Stacy said it was time. Dressed. Pulled socks over my blistered feet. Massaged voltaren in to my sore shin. Swallowed pain killers. And followed Stacy out in to the dark, where she led the way to Santa Croya, 18km north and west from Tabara. Her head-lamp shining, she was quiet this morning (as usual) as we began our walk and I thought about how remarkable this young women is; as beautiful and strong as one of my daughters. A dear friend. She's becoming my hero really.

On the way from Grimaldo to Granja

1. The morning walk from Grimaldo to Galisteo   2. Dinner "Italian" in Fuenterroble   3. Walking to Salamanca
4.  Salamanca Balcony, Plaza Mayor, Salamanca University and its Bell Tower,  Stacy at the Cathedral
5. Nearing Zamora  6.  Marker in Zamora  

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?'