Along the Merry Way....

I stopped in Sarria and had salad with Ester. Then went to mass and afterwards chatted with the English family that are traveling with their two children and two mules for baggage (very dear :). Next day I walked to Portomarin, a gorgeous town overlooking a great bay where the original city lies buried beneath the water. Who should show up, but my Spanish friends—Laura and Juan and Juan! They showed up about 2, then they left around 4. After around 1/2 an hour, I don't know what possessed me but I walked after them—another 12 km's! Madness. In the rain too....Well, we didn't reach the albergue until nearly 7 p.m. However, Juan #1 (the one who looked like Jesus) made delicious tea, and I sang for them. This morning we had fun walking, singing, and chatting. We passed a Eucalyptus grove where I picked leaves and saved them to bring home and make tea in Canada. It is wonderful to be young, happy, and independent. "Be not afraid." — John Paul II. Juan #1 is incredibly...

This morning it rained and rained and rained. But, this afternoon has been gloriously sunny. I met Ester in a bar, and we had a grand time. She is so much fun—accompanying all her conversation with really funny sound effects. "Chuca, chuca, chuca, chuca," or "Brip, brip, brip, brip..." She always sleeps in the bunk below me when we are in the same albergue. I only walked around 15 km's today, but I was tired and needed to rest (plus Sunday mass!). I walked with the big Brazilian fellow (same as in the snowstorm) and he kept calling me in Portuguese "The bird that sings." (Note: he had a nick-name for everyone on the trail). We took the bike route because of all the mud even though it was a bit longer. We walked with another Spanish guy as well and taught him English. Great fun even in the rain. Santiago is just over 100 km's away!!!

Note: O'Cebreiro was a fascinating town with ancient, round-shaped stone buildings with thatched roofs. I was walking in the country side, totally surrounded by mist and only able to see the ground in front of me and dripping tree-branches that lurked by the path. Suddenly, following alongside of me was a stone wall, so I knew that I must be near some kind of civilization. The path took a twist and then entered through a gap in the stone wall. When I reached the mountaintop town, it was completely filled with fog. I was alone and the only sounds beneath the dead weight of the fog were the click-clacking of my staff on the cobbled streets and some eerie celtic-music playing from a building somewhere. The streets were deserted, but I found my way to the pilgrim refuge. I managed to rustle up some bread and cheese from a little store. Eventually more sodden-looking pilgrims drifted in, including the young Spaniards. Laura was so dead-beat from the mountain trek that she was almost in ...

I left next morning in a great mist that lifted once or twice to reveal stunning views of green rolling farmland and sprinklings of villages. (Note: I'm always amazed by how the locals manage to farm on such steep land. It looks as thought the fields will slip off and go pouring down after the flocks of sheep)...Today was simply enchanted. After the pouring, typically-Galician rain stopped, the sun came out and dried my clothes I walked through leaf-covered paths that were surrounded by ivy-laden trees. I sloshed through barnyards, patted a few stray dogs, and sang, sang, sang! I passed bright blue flowers, butterflies, and brilliant green fields. The little villages seemed to be from a different era entirely. Never have I seen places so beautiful. Rushing streams and old stone bridges are everywhere, and the air smells of wildflowers. Note: It is ironic, but no wonder that Gerardo, the passionate young Spanish atheist, says that his home province "es como en el cielo"—li...

Many adventures later...Today was one of the best days ever. I have been hiking with three fun and very generous Spaniards but man do they take their time! Last night we stayed in a really funky, hippie-sort of place with a warm fire and a cluttered, log cabin look. The hospitaleros made us a huge dinner, slapping down large trays of foods—soup, fried eggs, meat, and more. Enough for a week. This morning, however, I could not bear it any longer, and I took off like a horse. I hiked ALONE through the mountains—a longer but more beautiful route. The trail then passed through many tiny ancient villages. The countryside is wet, but luscious and green. Cows, sheep, and mules graze, while shepherds putter along behind. I met an old woman in an apron who told me in a mothering way that I should put something warmer on. (She chided me, saying, "What do your parents think about you traipsing around alone Spain, chica guapissima?" She didn't actually use the word "traipsing,...

They say that it's even more difficult to stop walking the Camino than to start walking. This is very true. After a grueling first week, everything falls into place. The joints move smoothly and the pack seems weightless. The rough part is getting used to the busy pace of life with all it's demands and distractions once you've left the peace of the trail. That, and your legs ache for a rough path. Some people can't face real life. They are never able to stop walking--like the pilgrim from Barcelona. You just walk back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.....

I finally arrived at Samos where there is a hill top view of the monastery. It is huge and ancient, founded in the 6th Century and belonging to the Benedictines. In the evening, after touring the parts of the monastery open to visitors, I went to Vespers with the monks. Note: The monastery comes as quite a surprise—you are walking through the woods and then, bam, a massive square building with a courtyard in the centre appears nestled in the trees of the valley below you.

This morning we faced a horrendous blizzard entering the mountains before Pontferrada. I was walking with Laura, 2 Spaniards, and a Brazilian who insisted on wearing shorts, claiming that the ice and snow were good for his tendonitis. We weathered the storm, passing Manjarin, the rustic mountain shelter where we stopped to have coffee, warm up our hands, and sit for a bit. They don't have electricity there, but it was the most warm welcoming place. Once we peaked the mountains, the storm calmed down, and we descended into warmer, green valleys. We passed an ancient oak where it took the four of us, stretching out our hands to circle the tree. When we finally reached Pontferrada, someone made us a big dinner—super good—and we drank tea with herbs that Juan (a tough and handsome Spaniard who looks like a painting of Christ) picked on route. Afterwards, we played music on the guitar and sang. Once again the scenery is gorgeous, and the exercise exhilarating. Note: This part of the ro...

Ester once told me to be careful because you meet both Angels and Demons on the Camino. You never know who it will be. Well, perhaps both can be mixed in the same person. When I was in Rabanal del Camino, I met a very tall, Spaniard with a sharp, brooding face that was brown and creased like parchment. He had long black hair, and his skin, his pack, his teeth and his dog as well all appeared to be about the same color of grayish-black. You could tell he was a hard-core trekker, not one of those sissy's who take a taxi to the easiest spot in the Camino, walk for three days while sending the taxi ahead with their gear, and then find a hotel to shower in at the end. I'd heard about this Spaniard in Leon because he slept outside the convent walls with his big black dog. We started to chat outside in the courtyard of this albergue, and I asked him about the string of curious-looking earrings that peppered his ear. "What are they made of?" With a curl of his lip,he replie...

Life—the Camino—has been very good. Yesterday I walked with an awesome girl from Catalan. We sang, sang, sang. Me first in English then her in Flamenco, and then us both. U2, Cranberries, Dido or something like that. It's funny to hear someone who doesn't know a word in English belting out slang and good grammar. That afternoon, I visited the Cathedral of Astorga, passed by the palacio of Gaudi, and generally took it easy. Went to mass with some nuns in a convent near the hostel. This morning early I watched the stars because I was sleeping under a skylight. I saw two comets and a long, glorious shootingstar. This morning I saw a rainbow. The countryside is gloriously beautiful. Right now, I'm in an old but beautiful albergue—with a fire!!! and hot water. EVERYONE converged here! Even the dear Italian with the pipe.

I barely slept at all some nights due to the "Concerto de la Noche." The snoring was horrendous—great wheezing snorts, little repetitive machine gun fires, long drawn-out sawing sounds, choking noises—all harmonizing together. There were moments when I had my pilgrim staff poised and ready to hurl into the next bunk. Upon a bit of reflection, however, an act of such violence didn't really seem to be in keeping with the pilgrim spirit. During the worst nights, I took to stuffing sodden bits of toilet paper in my ears so that I could sleep.

At one albergue, the crazy Spanish hippie was lifting up my mattress from the bunk below, and another Spaniard was warning me about him and trying to scare me. So I whipped out my big knife with the wooden handle (just like the one Javier has). I started stroking the blade and said, "I'm not afraid." He took his blanket and went and slept somewhere else—thankfully!

Today me and two other Spanish chicas went out and found wood to start a fire. It is burning cheerily, and my clothes are drying. There is a forest or copse nearby where dozens and dozens of crows have built their nests. There are dozens, tons, millions of them....We slept in triple bunks.

Today as we walked, we passed through a tiny village that was like Hobbiton. A whole street of houses built into the bank. While the front of each was brick and stone, the walls and rooves were dirt and grass—the hill itself. poking out of the rolling green, were little chimney of stone. Today the weather forecast was snow and rain, but ha, ha! Not a drop. On either side of me were big, black, bulging rain clouds. In fact, it was pouring to the right, but up above it was clear! The sky looked like a track—clear over my head and with two long lines of dark ominous clouds on either side. It looked like someone had take a giant stick and cleared a path for me all the way to Leon!!! Right now I am staying in a convent in Leon. I got to go to the end of vespers with the nuns.

The cathedral of Leon was one of those soaring, incredible edifices full of stained glass and big rose window—the result of hundreds of years of love and labour. I went to confession there for the first time in Spanish! (Poor priest :)

Today was another gorgeous day of sun and easy walking. I walked in the morning with two German girls who described life in E. Germany before the fall of the Berlin wall. The thing most people seem to know or say right off the bat about Canadians is that, "Oh yes, you speak two languages there. Which one do you speak?" Anyways, last night I stayed in the monastery of Santa Clara, a beautiful old building with hot water showers, and who should show up but the two limping Italian girls and the Australian brother and sister.

I walked for 34 km through limitless miles of long waving green grass. I hardly saw any other pilgrims, but hiked up the great walls of the table-land—small mountains with their heads chopped off. In the distance a whole forest of windmills worked furiously, while in the other direction the mountain city I'd just passed through dwindled in the distance. On top of the mountain was the ruin of an ancient castle (next time I'm going to sleep there). I walked on very high flats for a long time, and the wind was furious!! I felt like I had all of Northern Spain to myself, so I sang Irish ballads for hours.

Even though I had no possessions other than the bare necessities, the trail has its own riches. Shopkeepers give me food, other pilgrims share meals, medicine, and clothes with me. All without me asking. They see you're limping, then they give you a band-aid. When you're roughing it together, there is a generosity and sense of fellowship that blows you away....One time in the pouring rain, I passed an open garage where people were feasting on wine and olives. They hailed me down and invited me in, and I downed a glass before passing on. Great fun. So much time for prayer, thinking, taking care of body and soul.

I hiked up, up, up, and away from the big city through miles and miles of windswept grass fields where the earth was white like snow. The sun was hot, but the wind was strong—just how I like it. I descended into a little valley at the far end of which was a town. It is impossible to describe the beauty of the place. Surrounded on all sides by mountains, the valley floor was like a green sea of rippling grass waves. On my way down, the trail was blocked by a great herd of sheep, several sheepdogs, an old shepherd and a mule. I chatted with the man for a bit, then just before I left, he kissed my hand! After crossing several kilometers of more windy peaks and grassy floors, I came to Hontanas—another tiny village where there is 2 albergues, and a beautiful church, but no stores for food :(

Yesterday an Austrian couple and I took an ancient route through some farmer's fields. Disregarding the yellow arrows, we consulted our superior maps and set off on a small dirt track that was completely surrounded by miles of waving green. Eventually the trail itself disappeared, and we had to guestimate, following a couple of very old boundary stones, until we eventually came to the city of Santo Domingo—where that saint lived and spent his days serving pilgrims.

The hike today was sunny, yet a cold wind blew which was perfect. The fields we pass through are so incredibly green. Sometimes you pass through towns that are beautiful, yet utterly abandoned. Fruit trees bloom, water gushes from ancient carved fountains, tiled plaques tell the street names, yet not a soul stirs nor a dog barks. Only birds twitter and the wind moans through the empty windows

I am in a tiny mountaintop town—after hiking for several hours through luscious green fields and between great red cliffs. The sun shone, and I passed a church where they keep a cage of chickens in commemoration of a miracle that happened in the middle ages. The hostel where I am right now is part of an ancient Gothic church. There are no showers or beds (only mats), but it is the most incredible place I've encountered yet. There is a little wooden door in the stone wall by my head, which leads into the choir loft of the church. To reach the small sleeping room, you walk up a long winding stone stairway to reach it. Windows are cut into the walls with sills so thick that you can sit on them quite comfortably. The stone is worn from so many people passing there. I feel like I've been transported back in time. The people in the albergue cooked a huge spaghetti and salad supper for us—and while waiting, I explored the town and strummed on a guitar that was there. Everything was so...

Today I got such a burst of energy, and much of the pain in my knees disappeared. I've been walking through orchards—olive and wine fields—over red cracked earth and pebbly paths. At one point, I came to a spot where there was a stretch of wire fence for about 1 km, and woven into the fence were hundreds of grass, twig, and stick crosses. So of course, I wove one in too. People are so kind along the route, directing me to fountains and pointing me in the right direction if I ever step off the path (without even my asking :)). I spend a lot of time singing Irish ballads—you can't help but sing when you're alone and independent, walking through the countryside. The sun came out with baking heat—it was gorgeous. I met an old priest in a great flowing cassock walking along the path, and he told me all about JPII's funeral. He was so kind—he carried my pack for me over to a nice spot where I could take a rest.

A perfect day. Took rests so my knees were better. Was walking with 7 men—4 Spaniards and three Czech's, so I didn't know how I was going to use the bathroom which I needed desperately. They stopped for sandwiches, so I went "exploring" and the problem was thus settled satisfactorily. At Irache—a monastery—we stopped to fill up our water bottles, and what should come out of the fountain but wine! A lovely treat! This afternoon the sun came out. Hurrah!!!! I've been practicing my Spanish a lot—I love the language so much. So far it has rained one day, which was actually quite fun, because all the pilgrims ended up staying for lunch at one bar. So we all crowded in, steaming and wet, and ordered hot chocolate and coffee. A pile of sticks and wet rain-jackets by the door—all sorts of pack-sacks lying about. Great fun. There is an old Italian pilgrim with a pipe and fat journal. I like walking with him because he goes at such a compfortable pace, yet we can't real...

I went to mass in sock feet—my toes were so sore :( but the Church was very beautiful. Walking with a bunch of Spanish women, I passed monstrous white windmills as we wove our way out of Pamplona—up, up, up the hills until reaching some metal figures of men on horses. I have been with some cheery Spaniards, cheery Czech's, cryptic Brit's, and a pixie-like girl from Bilbao. She dresses rather extreme, like a fairy, and walks alone to think and sing. I also met the most interesting pilgrim. He had a big pack, decorated with feathers and shells and bits of twigs. He had long curly brown hair and beard, and he had walked from Barcelona to S. de C. to Finisterre, and he was on his way back to Barcelona. He'd gone in winter—it was a search "for himself, for inner tranquility". This morning 4 troll-like men lumbered quickly by me—too fast! They won't make it to Santiago at that speed.