Along the Merry Way....

One of the things that I remember most clearly about the Camino, which I think applies very much to life is how much subjective advice people would give you. For example, a veteran hiker would say, "Make sure you avoid the northern route through the mountains between such and such two cities; it's rocky and difficult and can be damp because of the higher altitude. Most of all it will take you hours longer than the route through the valley." Well, of course, you think that the best road must be the straightforward obvious one through the warm, green valley. But I remember that I got lost, not the first time :), and sure enough, ended up on the mountain track. It did take far longer and it was damp, but I remember feeling that I was walking in the clouds, the valley stretched out below, acres of sweet pink heather surrounding the path, and thin mists swirling around me. There were no pilgrims in this deserted place, so I was able to bellow out Irish songs for hours. Then as...

Susannah (a doctor) and I went to a very ritzy hotel, called the Palace of Kings, which used to be a hospital for pilgrims. Years ago it was allowed to become a hotel on the condition that it gave out 10 free meals to pilgrims 3x every day. So I went with Susannah, two grubby little pilgrims, and had a delicious meal complete with as much wine as we wanted, all for free! Carpe Diem! Note: They ushered us through the ritzy courtyards and glamorous polished salons, past the stares of wealthy patrons, down through back stairways, deeper and deeper into the working quarters of the hotel, until we finally reached a tiny cafeteria/dining room. The size of the meal was just as lavish, however, as the decorations up above.

This morning I woke up to the crying of seagulls. The little albergue was so friendly and relaxed, and the Irish boy made breakfast for the few pilgrims who were there, and we all ate together. I went for a long walk on the beach to collect more shells--the symbol of the pilgrim all the way since St. Jean-Pied-au-Port. This has been the perfect way to end the Camino. Here at the end of all things...but, the road goes ever on and on... Finisterrae is so peaceful: gulls crying, dozens of fishing boats putting about, stacks of lobster traps, old men mending nets, and little boys rowing about in dingy's.

Some people said that they had only a few days without rain, but I only had about three days with rain! It was either ahead of me or behind me. And I galloped the last 40 km's into Santiago in glorious hot sunshine. After 800 km's, reaching Santiago was like arriving at the Promised Land. The next day there was a big mass in the Cathedral where many of the different pilgrims I had met on the way ended up. Gradually, more and more are reaching Santiago and there have been many warm reunions. They took down a giant incenser which it took several men to push. Then they sent it flying (and I'm not exaggerating) nearly to the roof of the cathedral, a cloud of smoke in its wake. The cord was so long that it went up one hallway then went sailing back into the next.

Well, after an eventful journey of many adventures, many friends, and much miracles, I am here in Finisterrae—the end of the world. I hiked out of the town, a port town, up to the great lighthouse that sheds safety along the Coast of Death as it's called. I passed through brilliant flowers and heather—yellow, pink, and blue—and picked a few to bring home. I hiked—scrambled, rather—down the cliffs to get as close as possible to the raging waves that crashed against the cliff with relentless fury. Then, perching myself on a rock, I hurled my dear staff into the sea (sigh, I forgot to give it a kiss goodbye!). (Note: I did NOT burn my clothes, which is a tradition for some pilgrims because I was far too attached to them after all this time. I did sit and watch the sun set over the Atlantic. This place is the furthermost Western spot in all of landed Europe before you hit North America). After hiking down, I picked my way to the beach— 1 km away—where I plunged in and swam in the saltw...

These are some photos of the Coast of Death that I gathered from online. They give a really good picture of the grandness and peacefullness of the place. You can see the lighthouse at the end of the rock.

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.