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I Get Crepes and Sleep with Seven Men – Day 11 – Viana to Navarette

Posted on by Kathleen Foote

The rain had pushed everyone apart from each other. Everyone was walking their own Camino. One foot in front of the other.

I walked past an old hospital for pelegrinos. 

The word “hospital” takes on a different meaning here. It relates to the word “hospitality,” rather than to the place we think of as the place for sick people. The medieval hospital was the place where the pilgrims would be welcomed, given a place to rest and have injuries attended to. it was a place of healing, for sure, but in a larger sense. 

Today’s local volunteers who staff the municipal albergues, the places where we pilgrims rest, wash, eat, sleep, are called “hospitaleros” as a fine tribute to their ancient origins.

As I walk past that old hospital, now just a ruin, I think of that medieval pilgrim, as wet and tired as I, and understand the relief and gladness he felt as he walked over the final crest of that hill and saw the old stone hospital. I flew back in time a thousand years and understood his experience.

When I arrived at Navarette, Marcel, French volunteer hospitalero at the municipal albergue, greeted me as if he had been waiting for me. Would I like an upper bunk or would I like the attic? 

The attic sounded good, so I and the gentleman who had also just checked in made our way up the final flight of steps to the attic.

Clean, bright, and no bunk beds, it was a nice quiet place to rest, especially when compared to the relative crowd and noise of the lower floors.

Marcel prepared crepes for all the pilgrims. This was his gift to all. Free and delicious, it was the first time I’d been treated by the volunteers. The aroma floated through the albergue and soon the dining room was full of hungry and grateful pilgrims anxious to enjoy a treat.

That night, I made my way up to the attic. I found that there were now seven men in the room with me. 

I felt like Snow White.

We were all tired and preparing for the next day and soon most were asleep.

Then, the fun began.

The gentleman who had come upstairs with me at first was a slight, quiet, unassuming man who spent most of his time reading on his cot while most were downstairs talking. 

At bedtime, he told me that he snored and he was going to move to a bed on the other side of the attic, which I thought was very thoughtful of him. 

I settled in for a good night’s sleep.

If you have ever heard of the UK version of “American Idol,” then you may have heard of Susan Boyle. She was the mousey looking, unassuming woman whose voice suddenly took the musical world by storm. What an amazing sound from such a timid looking person!

It turns out that the mousey looking man who kept to himself and moved to the other side of the attic because he snored was the Susan Boyle of the snoring world.

When he fell asleep, this amazing sound came from his mouth. Loud, deep, a full-throated basso profundo, he was the Maestro of snorers. The other six men unconsciously followed his lead in snoring but were certainly his supporting orchestra members. It was his sonata.

 It was the first time I tried earplugs, which did not work. From the other side of the attic, the closets and windows seemed to suck in and out and rattle, like in a cartoon, as he began his night music.

Literally hours later, he stopped snoring. Was he dead? I didn’t care. I would get a bit of sleep before the ambulance came, I thought to myself, and finally fell asleep.

I’m an Angel Because I Have Duct Tape – Day 10 – Los Arcos to Viana

Posted on by Kathleen Foote

Usually, the rain has the decency to wait until I have been on the road a few minutes before starting the daily downpour but today it begins before I wake up. 

Yuck.

Trudging through the mud, I wonder for a few moments if my legs are getting stronger because the load on my pack seems normal and my strides are more certain. But the wind starts blowing against me and I begin the daily struggle to make progress on the muddy track.

The Camino never goes around a mountain it can go over. Up and down, sliding down rocky hills, always wet. Repeat, repeat.

Then, up ahead, I see a young man on the side of the road sitting on a rock. As I get closer, I see he is wrapping thin athletic tape around his hiking pole. 

Are you OK? Do you need something? 

Usually the answer is that there is no problem, someone is just adjusting their poncho or tying their shoelaces.

This time, the young man looks at me and says yes, he is having a problem. His hiking pole has stopped telescoping and he can’t use it anymore.

Since you, dear reader, have probably never used a hiking pole, let me give you a short course on the virtues of hiking poles.

They saved my Camino more times than I can count in the first week alone. In Germany, you see them  used  mainly by old people, striding confidently along in a public park. Or on a public trail. occasionally on the sidewalk. But the important phrase here is, “old people.”

Therefore, most young people tend to shy away from these simple sticks (or high-speed high-tech sticks).

They soon learn that not using hiking poles can be a big mistake.

Maximilian, a strapping young man ready to enter the Academy, found out that using poles would reduce the intense pain in his knees caused by going down the endless and slippery paths on the Camino. He was lucky – his knees were recovering because he bought poles shortly after feeling the never-ending ache in his knees.

Now, one of his poles had died on him, too early, and he was trying desperately to give it some new life until he could replace it in the next town.

In the last minute preparation for my Camino, DH had wrapped a length of duct tape around a golf pencil and we had added it to my pack. Now, like my Voltaren, it would be called to serve.

Using my most used accessory, the little baby fingernail scissors, we carefully wrap and cut a length of duct tape which repairs his hiking pole.

He calls me his Camino Angel.

Thank you, DH.

I Find the Fountain of Wine  – Day 9 – Estella to Los Arcos

Posted on by Kathleen Foote

Since I am in a hotel, I do not have to be out the door by 0800. I can stay late. 

But a voice woke me up.

” Get up! Let’s go! I have something wonderful for you!”

My clock said it was 0615 and my alarm was set for 0715.

Nope. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

“No! Get up! The sun is out. It is dry now. Let’s go.”

When the Voice calls you, it will not be quieted. So I got up, got packed, and had coffee at the same cafe one last time. The clouds were very threatening and the wind was cold and strong. 

The wine fountain would be very welcoming.

The region of Irache is very proud of its wine and offers a special treat for peregrinos – the wine fountain! 

There are two spigots – one wine, one water – coming from the wall of the bodega, which is the wine cellar. Since this was the main wine cooperative for the region, the wine cellar was huge.  If you want water, go for it, but for true indulgence, the wine fountain is for you. On the side of the city wine center, right on the Camino, pilgrims may pour themselves a glass of wine to quench their thirst.

And, of course, pose in all kind of silly poses. 

Was the wine good? Who knows! It was 0845! But it was free, it was flowing, and everyone there suddenly became in a party mood. 

I dumped my water from my bottle, tried a sample, then filled the bottle with a bit of wine and alot of water. I packed and continued on the Camino. 

A Lovely, Dry, Day – Day 8 – Estella

Posted on by Kathleen Foote

Everything about this day in the little town of Estella was nice. 

I woke at about 8 a.m. and found the hospitaleria sending people on their way and talking to her friend, who was taking her child to school. I asked where the washing machine was and her friend excitedly began to talk to me. She ran a laundry and would be happy to do my laundry for me. I thought about the pile of muddy, dirty clothes on the floor and realized that if she charged me $100, it would still be worth it, and soon had one less thing to worry about.

I found the post office and mailed some items home which I found were not needed – rain pants, a plate, a hiking skirt, some cord.

I found a place to get a SIM card for my phone. I found a cash machine. 

I returned to yesterday’s cafe and had a morning cup of coffee and a croissant.

I am noticing subtle (and not so subtle) differences between my North American life and this wonderful European lifestyle. Even the tiniest, medieval, cobblestoned town has a public library with wi-fi for the students. The library in Estrella is quiet, tranquil, and well planned.

On the way to the library, I had to go through a narrow street where an ambulance was blocking traffic because someone needed help. I stood and watched for a while, observing how the local services handled an emergency (quite well, by the way).

After a few minutes, I observed something more.

The street was narrow, as I said before, and people were shopping, pushing strollers, moving to work, etc. Many simply walked around the ambulance and the EMT’s allowed people to move as needed. They did not block the sidewalk or try to keep people out of their way. 

Of course, people did keep out of their way. People understood and felt sympathy. Many pedestrians did stand around and watch the scene. But those who were watching were talking to each other. 

No one pulled out a cell phone and took pictures.

This struck me as different. I think people in the U.S. would transport their friends to the scene through the magic of technology. And they probably would not talk to other observers. 

Here, no one was taking photos or videos. But all who were talking were talking to their neighbor. 

I popped into a free art exhibit in the old castle. My laundry was returned clean, fresh, and folded (sadly, this condition would last exactly one day). 

I had a “pilgrim menu” of green vegetables which had had the h*ll cooked out of them until they resembled soup more than fresh vegs, a delicious half of a roasted chicken, french fries (standard for pilgrim menus), some dessert, and an entire bottle of wine for myself. I asked the waiter if I could take the rest of the bottle back to my hotel and, with a bit of reluctance but then giving in, he said O.K.

It had been a good day. I only hoped I could figure out how to manage my blisters because I was sure the next day would be another rainy one.