Day 13: Tardajos

We were awoken by echoing church hymns likely recorded in a cathedral. A few minutes later the lights came on. More minutes later Mari-Noel came to wish us a good morning.

Coffee, fruit, jam and toast was waiting for us on the dining table. The young andaluz had already eaten and left, so just us girls ate and chatted. Mari-Noel reminded us of the time. We had to be out by 8am. We cleaned up the table and dishes, took chocolate for the road and a sweet reminder message of God's pressence, left donations for the meal, and finished getting ready. I felt inclined to take Mari-Noel aside and offer her money for tending to me so sweetly with my ankle. She rejected the offer but seemed very appreciative at the thought. "You'll need it."

I helped her clean up our room, said goodbye and thanks, and grabbed the bag of trash to take it out on my way.

Sometimes pilgrims leave behind things. There were some walking poles in a bin that pilgrims had left. I considered taking one. Twice. But didn't. What if it makes no difference?

I took the trash to the dumpster, and was on my way. I headed for the cathedral across the river once more to see if Camille might be there. On my way an old post office and telegraph building. There should be a picture attached.

At the cathedral, Camille wasn't there. I did, however, see Alya again, and Olya and David. Also another new guy from Ecuador (who was very enthusiastic about all he'd seen in Burgos) and an Irish guy. They planned to sight-see today in Burgos. I asked Olya to tell Camille of my plans if she saw her.

I started my walk. My mood has been so somber and indifferent today. Maybe I'm grieving missing Camille's company? I need to get over that. We each have our own Camino to walk.

I picked up some spandex pants out of a pile of clothes by a dumpster (no Goodwills here I guess) I can maybe use since my pants I'm using are 3+ sizes too big now.

I also stopped and talked to an elderly local about politics for several minutes. Because, why not?

Several cyclist passed me by. No other walking pilgrims on the trail with me today that I saw.

I peed behind a bridge pillar. Couldn't hold it.

Arrived in Tardajos (only 12km walk for me today) at around 12:30pm. Got to the municipal albergue 4.5 hours before check-in, so I just stayed at a trashy bar across the street and wrote typed these three blogs. This town isn't the best one. I'm getting a crystal meth vibe. The bar was playing a Spanish version of Jerry Springer on the TV. Not a translated one, but their own version. Ugh. And I ordered a hot dog because it seemed cheap and filling, but it was deep-fried and not filling. I feel very negative about today.

Made it unto the albergue. The hospitalero is really nice. Not creepy at all. My roommates are all older. A couple from Slovenia, a guy from Germany, a lady from New Jersey, a Asian guy from the U.S.

After I showered and did laundry, I just napped and blogged. I'll go post these at the bar. Maybe go to the grocery store. Hopefully talk to my mom or someone. I'm just feeling down. You've gotta feel down sometimes to recognize how nice it is to be up.

My legs look so much better. My blisters are healing. Prayer and care. Things to be grateful for.

P.s. Olya just came in with an Irish guy. I had gone to the bakery to get chorizo, dried fruit, and a baguette. I came back to the albergue and shared food and conversation with them both. I'm learninh to freely share my faith here, even with people who claim to have none. It's making me bolder. It's making me shameless.

Day 12: Burgos

3:15am
Legs looking a little better, but blisters still gross.
5:15am
Legs still burn a little. Mostly ankle region.
7:15am
I'm gonna take a taxi. I tell Camille this, and she packs up to start her walk. We hug goodbye and agree to text to communicate when there's wifi
7:32
Look up taxi prices and bus routes on the bulletin board of the main hostel. Nothing seems appealing.
7:49
Research my symptoms on Google. Looking for peace of mind. Golfer's vasculitis looks and reads like it could be what I have maybe a more severe version.
8:01
Decide to walk the stage today afterall. It's chilly and foggy, so heat shouldn't be an issue. Text Camille to let her know.
8:04
Begin.

The path mostly takes me along the road. Foggy-fog world. I walk alone until the first town where I have breakfast. One lady running the place, but it's not busy anyway. Coffee, chocolate croissant, and a banana. Chris, Lanie, and Anita are just finishing up when I arrive.
"I love this cafe," Lainie comments.
I decide I do to. As I sit at the bar table enjoying my breakfast by myself, I trace my eyes around the inside as I admire the layout, the warmth, and the various options.
Anita had left, but pops back in the bathroom to change into longer pants.
I rush to finish my breakfast so that we may walk together. We do.
We catch up a little about the past few days since we haven't been together much. While we're walking up the hill we pass another lady who also happens to be Hungarian. Anita notices her struggling and encouragement, so hangs back to walk with her while I march forward and at my faster pace. With no one closely before me nor behind me, I have the next two hours to sing some worship songs loudly, which I haven't gotten to do yet. It was healing. I sang songs about healing and trust especially.
I still carried my hope and faith with me from last night's prayer. Even if my legs weren't all that better looking, I still had no doubt that God was working on them.

I went through my voice memos on my phone. A lot of them are songs I wrote, but never finished. It's funny how they were so pertinent to this moment. Part of a lyrics from one is:
"A firm step moves forward with great confidence. Not to regress back, only turn to glance as it continues forward in God's presence."
I must keep moving forward.

I eventually made it to a town where I caught up with Chris and Lainie who'd stopped for a potty break. As Lainie and I are walking, someone waving in a cafe window catches my eye.
My Camille!!!!
She waited for me. I went in as Chris and Lainie continued on. As soon as I connected to wifi I got a iMessage from Camille as she was telling me that she sent me a message to tell me she'd wait for me. She shared the cheese I like with me. She thought of me when she ordered it.

We rested there for about a half hour more. Anita popped in and she continued on with us. We all three walked together for a few kilometers, and then Camille told us to go ahead. I haven't seen her since. :-(

I walked directly behind Anita all the way to Burgos. The path was mostly on the road and highway (we missed the turn for the prettier path). We passed a construction zone where we both got bathed in asphalt mix. Good times. I found some in my ear and my bra later that evening. As we passed the airport and came to the outskirts of the city Burgos, we entered the land of hotels, car dealers, and slot machines. Villafria. We stopped at a bar for an hour break (I had a coffee and she smoked her last cigarette). I considered taking the bus with Yudit (the other Hungarian lady), but it came and went so fast. I think I was okay to walk.

I walked behind Anita, as I listened to Jack Johnson in my headphones, another 2 hours into the heart of the city. It took forever. We were in the city. Everything said "Burgos", but downtown where we'd stay was still another hour's walk. When we did finally make it, I HAD to stop for the first chocolate shop and order hot chocolate with churros (like I'd ha din Madrid with Paul). Anita didn't want any at the time. Something about eating them by myself made them not as tasty. At this point, with plans to stay in two different hostels, we parted.

I crossed the bridge to get to mine. Three locals offered directions on where to find the albergue I was looking for. I had planned to stay at la Casa Parroquial de Emaús (Parrish) because my churcj back home is called Emmaus as well. I had to ring the bell three times before a sweet, white-haired lady opened the door.
"Sorry, I was taking care of the trash," she apologized.
"No worries!"

She gave me the tour up the two story marble steps and made it very clear that religious purpose was important to her in a pilgrim. I felt obligated to put on my most religious enthusiasm. This is strange to me. That I felt the need to do this, I mean. Rather than just be me and mention God and spiritual things just as often as I typically would. But anyway, that was then and I noticed and learned. The guidebook said the albergue was Christian run (all others had said Catholic), so supposed maybe this could be protestant. It was definitely Catholic. And that's quite alright. After the tour, she sat me down to get me inscribed, rushed to the kitchen, came out with a cup and a pitcher of banana smoothie that she generously poured me, and we continued to talk about my purpose and future aspirations that she inquired of. She was sweet, Mari-Noel. I was intimidated by her curiosity and strong religious opinions, but she was still sweet. She also shared with me how she got started as a volunteer at the parish. She lives there and being a hospitalera is her life. For 14 years. And she said she has the heart of a nun, but would never wear a habit, so she never took nun vows in the church, but just personally. Pretty neat.

She encouraged me to go see the Cathedral on the other side of the river today since it was Saint Juan's week still (this was the last night of the weeklong celebration throughout Spain). I showered, laundered, dressed, put NewSkin on my ankle blisters that had worsened, texted Camille to possibly meet me, and left. I walked in the general direction of the cathedral, letting my curiosity of the parades, music, and costumes that filled the streets of the city guide me. Everyone was dresses up in renaissance/medieval style clothes, or had collared shirts tied around their waist, or bandanas around their necks. The city was filled with spirit and joy. The front of the church was decorated with elaborate flower arrangements dedicated to Saint John. I waited around the cathedral to see if Camille would come, but never saw her, and since I wanted to go to mass at the church connected to the albergue, I headed back across the river. I passed several stage set-ups for concerts.

I walked into the sanctuary during rosary prayer. Camille had explained to me the other day how this works, so I just sat, observed, and listened as the women chanted the same memorized prayers together whilst rotating the beads in their fingers.

15 minutes passed and it was time for mass. This mass had a lot of singing, which I liked. Camille explained to me the other day that the singing varies based on the ley people (congregants) and whether someone decides to be bold and lead a song or not. One of the beautiful elderly women lead at every opportunity. I adored this. I tried to sing or hum along.

I started the service seated alone, but slowly Mari-Noel, gathered all the albergue girls up like little chicks and had us sit in front of her. We went up together for the pilgrim blessing at the end of mass. Rather than a reading, as at the others, this priest places both hands on each of our heads to bless us one at a time. Maybe because we were so few? I appreciated it.

We all went upstairs, first to the room we shared. As I was checking on the blisters, Mari-Noel saw them and insisted that we pop them later. She disapproved of me having put NewSkin on them. I reminded her that my intentions were to prevent the popping in order for my ankle not to get infected while walking in the dirt. "We'll talk after," she shot me a concerned look.

Time for communal dinner (my favorite part of parroquial's--home away from home). Salad, cooked potatoes, pickled asparagus, bread, and french cheese (Mari-Noel, although fluent in Spanish, is actually native to France). The pilgrims of this night were mostly English speaking. Alya from the U.S. and Kuwait, Amy and Uncey from South Korea, and another young man came late who was referred to as an "Andaluz" or a person from southern Spain. Mari-Noel asked me to translate some of dinner. Sliced fruit and cookies for dessert. We all cleaned up together and set the table for breakfast. Then it was time for evening prayer. Candles were lit to set the mood. Mari-Noel asked me to translate into English as she gave instruction. Each individual read a part of their prayer in their own language. She also opened up a time for us each to share. She asked me to start. I self-translated my story of how God is using the Camino to teach me how to depend on him for strength (so far financially and physically). I'm not sure what's to come, I admitted. Others shared, and we were dismissed.

Except me. We needed to pop those blisters, she decided. She got a needle, sterilized it with a lighter, and handed it over. I popped them outside. Then I decided of this was going to be effective, I was going to need to peal off the NewSkin I'd painted on earlier. Yes, it hurt like the Dickens. Whatever that's like. After they were all popped, it was time to cleanse. Mari-Noel brought me a bucket of water to soak my ankle in. It was too short, so she got on her knees and began pouring the water with her hand over my ankle. So much love. Wow. After a few minutes a dried off my ankle, Alya offered me some of her antiseptic ointment, and Mari-Noel began to wrap my ankle in gauze. So much love. Wow.

We cleaned up, and said our goodnights. This is a new kind of Grace. A new category maybe?

Day 11: San Juan de Ortega and Áges

The full room was dark. 5:45am. Camille had been asleep in the bunk in front of mine. She was already up. Only her sleeping bag occupied her twin mattress. I rolled back over to sleep twice more. The fourth time i checked her belongings were gone. She must've left. Maybe I can still catch up. I collected my haul into Betsy and dragged her to the bathroom to put myself together. Camille and I had left chorizo in the fridge. In case she'd spaced, I stopped in the kitchen to grab it. As soon as I openes the door I was greetes by her warm smile with a "Good morning!" She sat at the table munching pieces of chorizo she'd sliced with her souvenir knife with "Lourdes" engraved on the handle. I joined her.

Two more gentleman walked in and started their breakfast. Then they offered us some juice. I never reject a juice offer. I love fruit.

As I finished my glass of tropical flavors and washed it in the sink, Camille and I predicted the walk and agreed to take the day slowly.

We did. We so did.
In the second town (7km in) we stopped for coffee, orange juice, chocolate, and cut up more chorizo ans bread for breakfast. We stayed an hour.
Another couple kilometers later we stopped to put our feet in the river and hang out on the foot bridge. For another hour and a half.
We moved forward another hundred steps into the town (Villafrance, I think). Popped into a bar called "Alba" (Camille's late aunt's name), but there was only one other man in there besides the bartender. They were chatting and we felt like we were imposing. The food didn't looj great anyway. Headed to a minimart and bought groceries that were ridiculously marked-up. Mixed nuts, fruit, key lime cookies, and a coke to share. Over 10€. Still tasty. We munched and talked. For another hour and a half in the shade of the church.
Continued up the series of peaks. Stopped on a bridge again. For another 45 min.
Every few kilometers we were stopping to rest and go more in depth in our talks. It is incredible how intimate and vulnerable conversations get on the Camino. Things you wouldn't share with your closest friends and family, you find yourself confessing to someone you've only known three days. And you feel like you need them. Like Camille... as I'm writing this I am not with her. And I feel so empty. We're in different cities now. And I'm kinda mourning not having her friendship and company right now. It's crazy. She showed me part of her Camino devotional yesterday that talked about just this.

So on Tuesday, after so many stops, we agreed to go full speed ahead. We saw signs for an "Oasis", but when we arrived to the Native American themed section of the trail, it was abandoned. There was still a trash full of orange peels. We must've just missed this littlw stand (later found out there were hammocks and everything).

The last stretch of this stage didn't seemed to end. The last 5km seemed double that. My feet were dying. I changed into tevas.
Finally. Finally we arrived into San Juan de Ortega (population: 60--haha). We still had planned to walk another 3.5km to Ages. I was miserable. Even though I wore pants all day (and even boots) like the doctor recommended, my legs burned so bad. And I needed a bathroom.
"Wanna go into the church? Even if just to cool off?" I offered to Camille.
We headed in. Olya and Anita were both already inside. Alyssa and Brenda also came out of the shadows. Happy reunions. I plopped Betsy on a stone bench and snuck into a hostel to use the restroom. When I came back, mass had already begun. This mass was very slow. Specifically designed for pilgrims. (Remember: population of 60)

We even were provided pamphlets that had all the liturgy and prayers written out. My understanding of the services I'd been assisting came to life. Some prayers are spoken in Latin; others in Spanish. This mass could've been very special to me, but all I could think of was how badly my legs and ankles burned.
"I haven't been praying about this." I thought. I blogged about it. I asked a few hospitaleros for advice. I looked stuff up on Google. I went to the emergency room. I even got medicine from the pharmacy that I have taken as directed. But not once had I asked God to do what I know He does so well and so gracefully: heal me.
So there in mass, I began to ask for healing under my breath.

During the pilgrim blessing (which every mass I've been to has done at the end), this priest gifted necklaces to all the pilgrims who cane forward. I didn't line up. I didn't allow for this service to be special to me. That necklace would end up in a drawer somewhere that would only get opened four times a year. I'd never wear it. Maybe another pilgrim would. I don't want it.

We left.
"Let's keep going. You wanted to go to Ages," Camille insisted. Something about Camille's company, her stories, her encouragement, her cute laugh... it always makes me forget about my legs. The burn goes away. Good company really can be a medicine.

We finally got to Ages. Another small town. Around 60 small as well, but more accommodations for pilgrims, I'd say. Right away we saw tables full of smiley pilgrims that enjoyed their evening meals as we were just getting in at 7:30. They cheered for us. No question. We were the last ones. Lainie and Chris were there, even.

As we made our way down the patio strip, one table stopped us.
"Did you know you're famous in the United States?"
"Me?" I was curious.
"Yeah," the brunette middle-age man with glasses assured, "I wrote about you in my blog. The ukulele girl. And then I started talking about the fountains and a friend of mine wrote, 'Enough about the fountains; I want to hear more about the ukulele girl.'"
He went on to share with me how special the moment was when he walked past me playing the uke, and then could hear the dreamy echo of it as he continued forward.
"I'll write about you in my blog, too."
We shook hands and I thanked him. My Camille and I continued down the way in search for the Snail House (Casa Caracol). It wasn't in sight. We aproached some elderly ladies on the bench who simultaniously informed us that it was closed. Camille asked if the church that was near us was open for viewing. The three wrinkly, toothless mouths also simultaneously confirmed. We went in, and one of the gals followed behind. She stood watch of us in the entrance as we stepped around the sanctuary of the humble church. As we were leaving, we thanked her for allowing us to see it.
Over and over she kept saying, "This is how I volunteer. I don't even charge anything. I don't even ask. This is volunteer. I don't charge." Okay, I get it.
I once again thanked her as I placed two coins in her palm. She added them up with her eyes, thanked me, and followed us out were she proceeded to walk us to a hostel and get us the best deal possible. That gesture of tipping her might have saved us 10€.

Credencials were stamped, inscribed in the records, room paid for. We waited a few minutes for the owner to take us to our rooms. We got our own room. So nice. The establishment was humble. Worth 5€, for sure.
"Enjoy your stay."
As soon as he shut the door behind him, I kicked off my shoes, stripped of my pants, and fell onto the bed.
The burn. More intense than even any sunburn I've ever had. And this wasn't a sunburn. I had blisters on my ankles now. Fluid-filled blisters. What is this? What's wrong?

As soon as Camille left the room, I started to cry. So scared. Why is this happening? Why is the Camino so much harder for me? God, why?

Camille came back in. I tried to stop the tears, but they came back.
"I feel like God's teaching me to depend on him in all these different ways. First it was the money. I was poor, but then he provided. Now it's this. I'm sick. And I have to depend on him again. What's next? If this resolves, what's next?"

"WHEN this resolves...." Camille changed my sentence.

"WHEN this resolves," I agreed.

We both showered and washed our clothes. We snacked on our previous munchies for our dinner, and discussed options for tomorrow.

"I'm not your mother, but I really think you shouldn't take a taxi tomorrow. Give your legs a rest."
She looked at them better in the light.
"That's GROSS!"
It really was gross. The blisters, the swelling, the redness.
A taxi would be a possibility. For now, I had pillows stacked under my legs (Camille's consideration), underpants drying on the line, and a soft bed.

"Have Camille pray for your legs." I heard this phrase repeated to me in my head, by whom I'd only assume to be the Holy Spirit, two other times today. Why would I assume that? Because asking someone I've only known for 10 days to pray for me out loud doesn't sound like a comfortable request to make. And asking someone who has already made it clear that in their religion it is atypical for them to pray spontaneously out loud in front of others sounds even less like a comfortable request.

However, I've learned from past circumstances that when I have chosen not to obey those uncomfortable suggestions I get in my head, I have ALWAYS--and I mean that in it's whole qualification--regretted it.

So after this third prompting, I awkwardly mumbled, "Camille, will you pray for my legs?"
"Of course. I'm always praying for you."
There was a silence.
"Will you pray for my legs out loud?"
She looked me in the eyes. Then at the floor embarrassed. Then back into my eyes.
"Yes."
She closed her eyes and maintained the silence for a moment.
The awkwardness was mutual.
But then she began to pray.
It was so genuine. And it was so loving. And I think I even mumbled in agreement to what she asked our God for. And then she finished with Amen. And then I knew. I knew that the hopelessness that I had just felt moments ago. The thoughts about quitting and returning home. The fears about to what degree my legs could continue to get worse. I knew that was all gone. My hopelessness was gone, and with a simple, genuine prayer my faith was restored. I rested my head on my pillow with confidence. I knew that God was healing me. Even right there on that bed. No more worries.

"Tomorrow will worry about itself."

Day 10: Belorado

No good with faces
And I'm bad with names
Gave me directions
But it's all the same
I'm lost
I'm too tired to try
Street lamps are broken
Black the way I came
Who broke the moonlight
Watch it wax and wane
I'm lost
I'm too tired to try
Let's not get ahead of ourselves now
There's no need for rain
Its our own parade
Let's not be afraid of our reflections
Its not only you
You're looking at now
Road signs were stolen
Left here holding this flame
Who stole my patience
Who stole my way
I'm lost
I'm too tired to try

This song accompanied my thoughts on the part of the stretch that I walked alone. "No Good With Faces" by Jack Johnson.

This morning started out earlier. I followed Camille's lead at getting up around 6:15. My legs looked a little better, but I needed to get to a doctor still. Today they'd be open. Jetted back over to Capoteca bar to use wifi to communicate with the padres really quick. I was supposed to meet Camille and Olea back at the monastery to be a part of the lauds (Camille told me it's when they sing prayers back and forth--the nuns, I think). Would've been cool, but we couldn't find it, so we started the walk.

Camille, Anita, and I walked to the first town. We ran into Chris and Lainie and we all stopped at a hostel to get food. It was a cute hippie hostel playing spicy latin love songs on the speakers. There was fresh baguettes, jam, butter, coffee, teas, and milk all laid out on the table for us to enjoy. And wifi. And bathrooms. By donation only. Such a sweet deal. I would love to do something like this when I move to Viana one day. Maybe as a retirement deal? So if you stop through Viana on the Camino forty years from now, please swing by my pad for some coffee, toast, and spicy latin music.

We enjoyed a chat and rest and then were on our way.
Camille, Anita, Lainie, and Chris have been my favorite people to walk with on the Camino so far. And today I got to be with them all at once.
Who's the lucky gal?

Chris and I took turns playing songs on the uke. Sometimes singing along. Sometimes mumbling along.

Then we split up a little. I put the uke away and jammed out to Jack Johnson on my phone. Eventually I caught up with Anita and Camille again and walked with them the rest of the way to Belorado.

Today was naked blue skies with a light breeze. Bright sun. My farmers kicked in on one arm, so I rolled up my sleeves.

As we approached Belorado on the dusty gravel road, we saw a sign for a swimming pool at the next hostel. 5€? That's it? What's the catch? The only catch is that hostel is 1km out of town, so they sell everything you'd need in the hostel (even a nice sized bar) but they charge a little more. 5€ is still killer.

The five of us ended up in the same room in bunks.

Doctor first. I walked 1.5km into town to look for a consult. Found Red Cross, but they were closed for the next three hours, so I headed back to the hostel.
Rinsed off, washed laundry in the shower (too cheap to pay 2€ to use the machine), and POOL! So cold, but so refreshing. After an hour of laying out with just legs dangled in, we finally decided to get in and do a few laps in this 9 yard pool. Ha Camille, Chris, and I. We also talked to some Brits about Trump. The whole world is scared of Trump, according to the representatives of the world I've met on the Camino.

There was a rinsing station that I tried to use by the pool, but the knob popped off and the water pressure sprayed out through the knob hole. It took Camille and I 3 min to get it screwed back on finally.

Back to the rooms to shampoo and dress.
Ate some chorizo, cheese, and grain baguette that Camille and I bought a shared. Camille is a very generous human being. She always shares her food. She bought pastries to share with all of us earlier at that donation house. So thoughtful. Always.

After lunch Lainie and I walked into town. She was headed to yoga (some guy pulled over in a van gave her a coupon while we were walking) and I was headed to the doctor. I walked her to the hostel where the yoga was and went on my way.

I went to Red Cross first. Still closed. Rang the buzzer five times. A lady in a red soccer jersey finally walked up and told me, "I can't treat you here. You'll have to go through that alleyway to the Health Center."

Okay. So down the alley and went around the building. Pharmacy was there, too. Popped in to see if they could just give me allergy cream, but the sweet, young pharmacist insisted that I go to the emergency room first.

Across the street I went. To the Health Center. To the Emergency Room. Also locked. And empty. Hmm. I buzzed twice. Two smiley, brunette gals in white med coats opened up the door for me. They must be on-call in another room unless they get the buzz. I was the only patient there. They were very friendly and welcomed me in.
I inquired the prices. 75€ like the other. No cards. Just cash. They directed me to the bank 25 meters away. I got out cash and returned to the emergency room. It was still unlocked for me. I walked into the examination room and both the medic and the nurse kneeled down to touch my leg right away. The softly rubbed their hands up and down. Checking for texture and temperature, I'd assume. They were very sympathetic. As if they each were my own mother.
"Allergies. Likely plants."
"Sun exposure, too, huh?"
They bounced hypotheses off one another.
Then came the questions directed at me.
-Where did you start the Camino?
-Where have you sat?
-What did you touch?
-How long has it been like this?
-What have you been putting on it?
-What have you been wearing?

Verdict: Plant allergy. Sunshine made it worse. Heat added to complications. Topical ibuprofen was not a good call on my part. Neither were essential oils.

Remedy: Two types of pills (benedryl-esque) for up to 10 days. Pants. Hiking boots again. Cold showers. No creams. No essential oils.

The medic gave me half the meds that she had there to save me some money. Also, I have travel insurance which will reimburse costs. Wise, last-minute decision.

Headed back to the pharmacy.
"Allergies?" the sweet, young pharmacist looked for confirmation.
"Yep."
She suggested the cream, too, but I declined.

Next item on the list was a store that would print a document I needes to send to a friend. The sweet, young pharmacist very kindly and efficiently gave me directions to the nearest print shop.

The elderly man at the shop got me all set up with my document, envelope, and even a stamp! Saved me multiple trips around town.

I filled up my water bottle at one of those old fountains with ice cold water and made my way back to the hostel. Stopped by the yoga place, but Lainie seemed to have left already.

Once at the hostel, I was ready to start the recovery process with these weird allergies. Medic recommended food with the pills.

Ordered a brei and ham pincho, 2 coffees, and candy (because).

Caught up with my friend Cheryl from home who helped me research blister preventative methods.

Here I sit now in the brisk Spanish air under the flood lights on the patio of the hostel.

My bed calls. Tomorrow is a new day. I'm officially 1/3 of the way into the Camino. So fast. So fulfilling.

Day 9: Santo Domingo de la Calzada

I would like to begin this post with a friendly reminder that I AM SAFE. I just got off the phone with my mama. She said that how/what I'm writing kind of comes across as me being in need of help. That I'm stranded. That I'm seeking pity. I want it to be made clear that I am 100% fine. Like I said in my post from my second day on the trip, I have so many resources to tap into if I find myself in dire need. I have an emergency credit card with me. My parents are very much in communication with me during this (in fact, they just deposited money for the doctor visit about my leg--I have good, caring parents that love me).
You might be fed up with the word Grace appearing in my posts. Maybe my objective is a little convoluted, so let me explain it differently.

I am using the Camino de Santiago as a spiritual experiment. I am proving to myself that God is faithful. That even if I allow myself to get to the point of having no money, that he will still care for me and meet my needs. Like I said before, I never knew what poor felt like before now, but I decided to do it this way knowing there would be an end. If am going to work with poverty stricken communities at some point during my life, it would do me some good to have genuine empathy. Some "I know what you're going through" feels.
And again, I am not looking for pity. My objective is to prove to you, my dear reader, and to myself that the creator of the universe, the God that sees us, our Heavenly Father cares and provides for us. So I guess it's of dual objectives.

Thanks for coming along this far. The best is yet to come.

So today. A lazy morning. Sleeping in until 6:47. Ha That's hilarious.

My leg looked better this morning. At the bar last night the bartender said I had allergies. From the river or plants. Back at the albergue Alissa asked about how my leg was. She had exactly two Benedryl and she gave me both. So nice.

The hostel was empty by the time I left the bathroom. Only a Lynda was left. I had it planned to meet Camille at morning mass at 8:30, so my slowness was justified.

Got my stuff together and went on a search for a mailbox and then I needed to find this church. I went back to the albergue 12 min before they locked up so I could leave a donation for the stay. God has put it on my heart to donate to the municipal albergues, but that the church ones are on Him. ;-)

I sat at the bigger church for a while. Doors were never opened. I crossed the bridge to go to another. Also locked up. It was already 8:37. Oh well. Back to the Naxara bar from last night to have a coffee and a bocadillo again.

I left the bar at 9am to start my walk. I pulled out my Uke as I tried to find the path out of the city. It took 7 min longer than it needed to because of the uke playing that distracted me from noticing the yellow arrows.

It was overcast and slightly windy. I went braless again (and since I've lost several pounds, that's perfectly fine). But I was also wearing two jackets for the chill anyway.

I walked for 2 hours by myself playing various songs on my uke. People passed and smiled. I put it away as I came to a village. Some other pilgrim guys that had passed me asked me where the music had gone. "My fingers needed a break," I sighed.

The next hour I spent listening to Kari Jobe, one of my favorite worship artists.

As I summited the top of a hill, who did I see? My Camille! She was having a rest and snack on a bench in a picnic area. She said as soon as she heard the music, she knew it was me. She shared her snacks (because that's what Camille does) with Olea and I. Olea is a pretty Ukrainian girl from New York. She looks like a Barbie doll. She's flawless. And her heart and spirit are equally beautiful.
Camille, Olea, and I spent the rest of the way walking together. I'm learning so much about Catholicism from listening to the two of them. I'm so intrigued by the intricacies of a religion that my own was born out of.

We got to Santo Domingo de la Calzada. It's a larger town. Same squeezy 13th century buildings. We checked into the first albergue. It's a monastery and the albergue is run by nuns. I crashed, showered, did laundry.

Headed to the bar with Lainie and Chris for wifi. I ordered a mushroom tortilla (think quiche again) and a coffee. I was in the bar for hours on the phone. This is the first time I've really called home since I've been here. While on the phone with my mom, an elderly man offered to buy me "a drink, or something to eat... anything!" But I declined because his intentions were unclear and I was on the phone.

Camille came by as I was wrapping up with my mama. She sat down for some dinner and when I finished up we went to mass together. My favorite parts of mass are always the readings and the homily. This priest was a little more intense with his homily, which was interesting to see. All the other priests have been more passive.

After mass, we stopped at the treat store to get some orange and lemon skin candy and a Santiago Cake (like corn cake, maybe).

When we returned to the albergue, we went straight to the medieval dining hall. I felt like I was eating in an old castle. Lainie and Chris had made veggies and spaghetti that they shared with me.  I returned the favor by doing dishes. As I was leaving the dining area to go up to my room, they were trying to scoot a pigeon out from under the vending machine with a broom. Weird stuff, man.

Olea, Camille, and I are sharing a room. Today was lovely and simple. Tomorrow I'll be able to get my leg taken care of since pharmacies and medical consults will be open again.

Day 7 & 8: Viana, Lorgroño, & Nájera

4:02pm

Before I tell you about the rest of my day, I need to tell you how I feel right now. I feel a little violated, and I don't know. I'm holding back tears on my top bunk in the Catholic church parish of Logroño. I wasn't raped. I wasn't even really molested I don't think. I was just touched by my a man in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. 

Today's account might be parted up. Perceptions might change as the night progresses. So stay with me.

I had walked and talked with Anita the whole 28.7km. One of the cities we passed through to rest, Viana, i've decided I will live in one day. I can't explain why. I just know. We had the best day yet. It was raining as I got into the city of Logroño mid-afternoon. She departed to her hostel, and I continued through the downpour in search of the parish (stay by donation) where I'd spend the night as I'm down to 1.47€. The Camino provides various donation parishes to stay the night the rest of the trip, so I have a certain amount of assurance on having a roof over my head.

After sloshing in my tevas up the puddles of the cobblestone street, I finally made it up to the big wooden doors. I buzzed the "peregrino" button. 

A smiley, white-haired man opened the door and welcomed me in. He zipped into another room and quickly reappeared with a towel for my sopping wet self. I was the second to the last person to be accepted in with room still available. Otherwise I would've been in then rain on the streets. Grace. 

The hostelero, Don Joaquin, gave me the run-down on all the amenities (free dinner and breakfast) and schedules (mass) for this evening, and I returned his hospitality with a appreciative demeanor and words of utter gratitude. He returned to his office to attend to some other pilgrims (two middle-age, American gals) who asked questions in broken Spanish and were answered in broken English. I plopped Betsy on my top bunk and went back out to the foyer to wait to ask for some advice/insight on my persistent and worsening hives on my legs. After several minutes, I could no longer handle the linguistic miscommunications between them, and finally popped my head in to translate. Questions had answers and the ladies headed back into the dorm.

Don Joaquin approached me right away. 

"Don Joaquin, I was wondering if you have any advice or have seen anything like this before? I'm thinking maybe it's from the plants, but I'm not sure."

I tilt my calf into the light.

He signals for me to sit down as he does the same in the adjacent chair and proceeds to grab my whole leg and place it over his lap.

I don't like this.

As a patient, my doctor has the right to touch parts of my body without having to ask my permission every time.

My chiropractor has that same right. He doesn't have to ask me every time he's going to adjust my lower back.

My dentist does not have to ask to put his hands in my mouth. It's an obvious understanding. You get my point.

When I show a parish volunteer the side of my leg, what makes him assume he has the same right as those people would?

If he were to just observe my leg on his lap for a better look, I would've blown it off. But he gently rubbed his hand along it. Much more than he needed to. Sure, his words were giving advice, but his hands were saying something else. Something else I didn't like. He kept saying "While you shower rub it" "You should shower off" "When you're showering..." Aaaaah. No more. I just wanted out. I wanted my leg off his lap and I wanted out of that office. He finally knocked my leg back on the ground, shook my shoulder and said "Chill out."

I'm still so... I don't know. Were his intentions not bad? Am I reading to much into it? Are Spanish people just inherently more touchy and forward? Is he actually a creep? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. All I know is my stomach has been in knots since, my eyes are holding back a fountain from all the people in this dorm, and I wish I could blink my eyes and grow a backbone.

10:07pm

The night improved. I contacted my mom and she basically gave me an honest "You're innocent, so it feels more intense" kind of reminder with a concerned "Don't be around that man alone" precaution. I felt better.

I sat on my bed for a good while before moving forward with getting ready to shower. As I gathered what I'd need for the event, one of the American ladies, Alyssa, approached me at my bunk and asked if I'd join her and her sister, Brenda, for Sangria.

"I can't, but thank you though."

I can't? Why couldn't I? I could have easily sat with them and indulged in conversation. She didn't say, "Would you like to come buy sangria with us." She was simply asking for my company I considered all this after they'd left. 

I showered (my armpit hair is getting long!), washed my shirt and underpants from today, and thought I was going to mass, but the hostel volunteers reminded me I was a whole hour and a half early. So I napped. For 15 minutes.

Suddenly...

"Preep ear die ner! Preep ear die ner!"

Do you know what that means? Neither did I until I heard the Spanish translation. 

"Quieres ayudar a preparar la cena?" Don Joaquin asked one of my dorm-mates, Renato.

Prepare dinner. Gotcha.

I continued to lay in my top bunk as I considered my options:

a) continue napping until mass

b) go offer to help prepare so I can gain a better impression of Don Joaquin.

I chose b) and it worked. He joked around with all of us as we cut tomatoes, prepared salads, sliced bread, set the table, and washed dishes. I was helping with a German girl named Gaby (whose a perpetual backpacker--that's her "home") and Renato from Ecuador (who reminded me a lot of my former boyfriend). Don Joaquin (Spaniard) and Don Jovani (Italian) are both Camino veterans who volunteer in the hostels throughout the year. For helping with prep, they shared fresh cherries, plums, and a shot of what I think was liquor with us. In a seminary. Oh the irony. And the grace.

At 7:30pm I went to mass with Renato and Gaby. I'm starting to understand the liturgy better. It's basically the same every mass at every church. This priest, however, did no hymns nor homily, which was a first. We went forward at the end for the pilgrim blessing which is offered at every mass.

After mass it was time for dinner. I met Silvia from The Netherlands and enjoyed conversation with Brenda and Alyssa. Brenda is a church secretary from Washington and Alyssa is a teacher, author, and radio show host from Minneapolis. They are middle-age step-sisters who are doing the Camino together. They were also at mass. For dinner we enjoyed salad, bread, and genuine Italian spaghetti per chef Jovani. Amazing. For dessert: watermelon. You may or may not know that melons are the only fruits I dislike. But I ate three pieces because... Grace.

After dinner we went back to the church for a group prayer. We sat in these strange wooden benches with awkwardly high arm rests in a semi-rectangle and prayed in all the languages of everyone present one at a time. It was so unifying. Wow. German, Dutch, English, Italian, Spanish all professing the love of God.  

Back upstairs for dishes. Again only Renato and Gaby volunteered with me. Don Joaquin walked around barking instructions with an unlit pipe hanging out the corner of his mouth. Breakfast items set in the table. Done.

Teeth brushed. Time for bed.

Saturday 5:50pm

Today was the best day yet!

The walk was easy. The weather was perfect. The company and conversation were everything my soul and spirit needed today. And... Grace.

I hopped out of bed to my twinkle alarm at 5:05am. You know that feeling when you wake up and have no idea where you are for like 3 seconds? That happens to me every day now. Ha

I had breakfast upstairs. The only one at the table set for sixteen. Coffee with milk, plum jam and toast. Teeth brushed, gather my clothes that never dried over night, and grab Betsy to go.

Wait. How do you open the door? Doors here in Europe on the older buildings can be so strange. After 3 minutes of looking for a lever, a knob, ringing the buzzer, looking for a button, anything... the Italian girl motioned for me to hold the buzzer down and then push the door. It worked. The third time.

On my way I went. Now where are those obscure yellow arrows?

I walked just to the end of the building and who did I see? My Camille! On the Camino you meet so many people that meet so many different social needs and you there's. Camille keeps me spiritually encouraged. She loves to talk about God. And because she's a school teacher she also loves to help people grow. These two things make for very spiritually/emotionally dense moments, which I love. She's one of those people who's not afraid to say what she thinks, share what she's been through, or do what she must if it means edifying the person she's speaking with. We walked all day together, stopped occasionally for rests and to visit a beautiful church in Navarrete (Alyssa was there, too), and just enjoyed the conversation and company of each other. Encouragement and insight galore! The time and the kilometers didn't even phase us. We finally arrived to Nájera and we split up to different hostels. Hugs and both agreed taht today was the best yet. 

I'm in a donation-run hostel put on by the municipality. My Anita is here, Gaby, Silvia, and Chris & Lainie. I showered and headed out in search of a medical consultation. The rash on my legs has gotten ridiculous. So much pain. I walked several blocks to the emergency room (the only consult open since it's still Saint Juan's Week--a holiday) and they charge Americans 76€ for a consult with the doctor. Insane. If I lived in the European Union it would be free. I'll have to look into my travel insurance med coverage, but first a CocaCola (you'll read about my newest Grace next). I look through all the bars to see if Camille is around yet (we said we'd meet up later). No sign of her. So I picked the oldest looking bar and sat inside cause it's chilly and overcast out. People are still on the bar patios anyway. Not this chick. So here I am sitting with an empty plate where a bocadillo (fancy ham sandwich) once sat, an empty coke, and an empty coffee cup. All consumed by me. Satisfied and feeling provided for by a good, good Heavenly Father.

I was with an individual today who inquired about my financial situation on this trip. I have made it a point not to share this with any other pilgrims in order to not be pitied, because for me there's no pity at all in living off God's grace alone. But this individual specifically asked. I was honest. About my irresponsibility in budgeting, about my first few days of fear, and then my excitement and experience thus far on God's grace. This individual was moved (their words) and felt inclined to give me 50€. Wow. After moments of not wanting to accept such a gift and encouraging them to think it over first, I did receive Grace and expressed much gratitude while holding back tears. I put the 50€ in my buttoned pocket on my pants where I keep my phone.

Three hours later... It was gone. Panic. Utter panic.  I checked the only three streets where it could've fallen. I asked all the individuals around the vicinity. I checked the bathroom. I checked the table. Panic. Embarrassment. More panic. Utter embarrassment. I had to fess up to the individual as they noticed a change in my countenance. How did they respond? 

"I guess someone else needs it."

What? What?? You're not angry? You're not even offended by what seems like carelessness after your overly generous gesture? What?

I was in disbelief. 

They held out another 50€. Nope. I can't. I was stubborn. We walked outside, sat and shared a delicious spread of carrots, salami, cucumber, cherries, and sliced baguette that they had brought. My face still downcast with shame.

"How much harder would it be for you to receive the 50€ now that you already lost the first 50€?"

Oof. I'm crying right now as I type this. 

This type of grace is so much different. This is grace on the next level. This is Mercy. And this person showed me a mercy that mirrors the mercy that Christ continually shows us. He forgave us. He gave us Grace. The forgiveness he "worked hard for" with his sacrifice was gift just for us. He was moved by compassion to bless us with the Grace. Yet. Yet how many times do we slander others intentionally? How many times do we turn a blind eye to the needy because we don't have the time or patience? How many days do we go without acknowledging such a Good Father we have? And yet. And yet his forgiveness never runs out. The Bible says his Mercy is new every morning. No matter what we did or didn't do the day before. No matter how much we chose NOT to love Him and NOT to love others, he offers his Mercy again. Oof.

So I have 51.17€ now.

Because Grace & Mercy.

Day 6: Villamayor de Monjardin/Los Arcos

The guys went to set up tents in a grass patch we passed on our way into town. I wrapped up my blog on the wifi at the bar. It does't get dark here until 11pm. It's almost midnight now. I'm laying on the grass under the stars on this warm, windy night between two tents filled with protective Greek men. Tolis lent me his sleeping bag since they said my sleeping bag liner was not good for tonight. This day. This night. It's taking away a fear of men that's been ingrained in me. Not all strange men plan to rape me. Some feel it's their duty to protect me when I'm walking in a strange country alone. And that's more than okay.

Sleeping outdoors was nice. I was the first up at 7am. I dragged my backpack over a pile of branches behind a tractor to get changed and ready for the day. By the time I was finished the guys started crawling out of their tents with sleepy eyes. As they got ready and packed up, I climbed a cherry tree we were camped by and gathered a pound or so of cherries in a ziplock bag. Grace. Tolis summoned me down when I got too high up for his nerves. We walked back up to the bar to use the wifi and waited around for an hour. Tolis made us all some instant coffee. Really good, actually. Grace. At 9am we were on our way to Los Arcos, the next town over (13km).

Next to no shade. No fountains for water. Just fields of wheat and maybe a small vineyard or two. We did, however, encounter a Spanish couple musical duo: the wife on the accordion and the husband on violin. So sweet to see along the path.

We found a shady spot and snacked on cherries and raisins. I shared some cherries with some UKers that passes by.

Tolis and I munched on raw wheat nuts. Would you call them nuts? Raw wheat sprouts?

On the Camino sometimes you walk with people and sometimes you break off on your own to think/pray/play ukulele. This time I did the latter. A Swedish guy named Öve took my picture. As we came into the snack truck area, an asian couple encouraged me to keep playing. I wasn't about to compete with the snappy Spanish music being blasted by the food truck, but I thanked them for the compliment.

Snack trucks! Every once in a while you get lucky enough to find one of these along a lengthy stretch. Alquis bought us all drinks. Grace.

You bump into the same people all throughout the Camino. Señor Santiago, (the one that offered to buy me a drink at the bar and I declined) is one I see almost every day. He brought his family from another part of Spain to partake in part of the Camino. He's basically the only one enjoying it. He's a spirited, clownish guy and his family lags and sighs behind him.

I run into Katie and Georgia almost every day now, too. Georgia is Greek! She popped over at our table at the snack truck and started talking to the guys in her best Greek. She's from Chicago from two Greek parents. I'm liking her more and more everyday.

And Öve came over to our table to show me the picture he took of me. I gave him my email to send it to me.

After the guys had their cigarettes and packed up their film gear, we continued on. We passed around the ukulele. We sang Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" together. They serenaded each other with classic Greek songs. And then we all got tired and serious. We broke off and walked alone. I practiced my uke a little, and then just carried it the rest of the way. Every one was worn out.
We finally made it to the Los Arcos backdoor entrance at 1:15pm. We stopped the soonest we could. I whipped out the cherries and cut up some bananas and salami I had bought at Simply the day before. We shared some sparkling lemonade from the vending machines (another precious thing to find along the Camino). We sat at the orange, plastic patio tables by the free range chickens and ate our spread and rested. Alkis asked me about the cheap hostel in town, so I volunteered to leave Betsy with them and go find it and inquire about space and prices.

I walked 1km up through this squeezy, 12th century town. The buildings are so tight together. It's funky.

I made it to the hostel (Isaac Santiago). 6€ a person, 30 beds still available. Perfect. Back to the guys. On my way I ran into three different groups or individuals who asked me for directions on how to get to the same hostel. Uh oh. Better get to the guys fast before the spots run out. The people are coming.

We walked. I turned around occasionally down the 1km stretch to dictate directions to these tired men so they wouldn't get discouraged on the last stretch.

We made it. And there was still room.
The calculations on my residual funds were incorrect the other day (yesterday? the day before?). I was down to 38€. After two hostels, two sets of groceries, 5 shared cokes, and a couple coffees I am down to 3.17€
This is where life starts to get exciting.
This is where my actual trust in God's grace will initiate. Ready or not. Here we go.

I got settled in my bottom bunk. The last bed I will personally pay for on this trip. I showered my stinky body. I washed my stinky clothes. I never knew Lynda stink until this. This is a-whole-nother level. Clothes hand-washed in a bucket and tended outside.

I still had a little bit of salami, baguette, cheese, and two tomatoes left over. I wanted to use it up before it goes bad. My good friend/basically older sister Marbella from Mexico taught me that pan-roasted tomatoes are the best kind of tomatoes. So I pan-roasted those puppies in the shared hostel kitched. I sliced up the bread on a plate. Cut the cheese (the non-noisy kind) and put it in the freezer since it was melty. Mashed up the pan-fried tomatoes, pulled out the skins, added water, and cooked the sauce more in the pan. I looked everywhere for salt, but there only seemed to be a jar of sugar. Poured the tomato sauce over the top of the sliced baguette pieces. Alkis was looking for salt and found that the "Sugar" jar was actually salt. Sprinkled salt on top. Cut up salami. Shared my pretty spread with all the hostel folk that were outside. They were all grateful and impressed.

Oh and Lainie and Chris are here, too! I/ nice seeing them around. As I type this now from the dining room, they are making pasta dinner in the adjacent kitchen.

Chatted with everyone outside while we all enjoyed the snacks. I had one of those cokes.

They whipped out a guitar that one of the hostel warden's hand. It was way outta tune even while some good musicians passed it around. When I finally had it in my arms I tried to tune it by ear. A Spaniard whipped out his phone with the tuner app and tuned it well.
"You play?" I asked.
"Not guitar, I play ukulele."
Before he could put a period on the end of his sentence I was already sprinting back to the room yelling back at him, "I have one!"

I came back with it, we left the guitar zone and went to sit down taking turns showing eachother what we knew on uke and exchanging favorite uke artists.

Dinos came out to get cooking oil from uke guy. I put my uke away and went into the kitchen. Alkis was cooking something good. You should see this guy. He's muscular, tatted up, has a stern look almost always, buzz cut, beard, deep smoker rasp... But so considerate of his friends. So gentle with others. He's a conundrum. The good kind. He asked me to set the table.
I ran to wash the shirt I was wearing because it was rancid, changed clothes for mass, and came back for dinner. It was this perfectly seasoned sausage pasta. Mmmm. I was verbally forced to eat 3 plate fulls. Haha It was great though. And red wine that the boys hoarded from the Irache fountain to accompany the meal. Tolis served the wardens plates as well. Very thoughtful. Soltiris and I took care of dishes.
I raced off to mass alone. I met up with Lainie, Chris, and David (all Americans I've met on the trip). Lainie and Chris are protestant as I am, but it seems share the same respect and connection to the Catholic church.

The priest gave a sermon on John the Baptist and his significance because here in Spain tonight will initiate what I believe is a weeklong celebration of the "San Juan" (John the Baptist). Tonight (within the next two hours, actually) the fireworks will begin. This church was FILLED with ornate idols and images dedicated to the various saints. John the baptists happened to be right behind the priest, so he frequently pointed back to him. Fun little visual aid. After the liturgy, he had the pilgrims pass forward ro recieve a pilgrim prayer card (which I'll have to share with you in my next blog since it's put away) each in our own language, we all read them aloud together, and then he wished us a safe trip and gave us a weather forecast. He was a pretty casual priest. Pretty young, too.

After we were dismissed I got a sweet, familiar hug. Camille!! I hadn't seen her since that one night. She's a Spanish teacher from Albuquerque, NM and we had those religious discussions. This gal is adorable.  So she hugs me and we are both excited to see each other again. We exchanged stories on our past few days and then she invites me to sit with her and her friends in the plaza. I sit with Rodger, Sean(?), John, Öve, and Anita (the one I'd walked with in day 2!). Apparently, I have the reputation amongst some as "The Mandolin Girl". Not everyone can pick out a ukulele from a stringed instrument line-up. I get it. We chatted for a bit and then I dismissed myself to get back to the hostel in time for lights-out.

These Greek men, in a matter of hours, really, have turned into my big brothers. It's funny how the Camino really does provide a family for you. Not sure what the future holds, but right now I can't imagine my life without a lot of these precious people.

Tonight is my last night (as far as my current circumstances can have me predict) that I will be paying to stay in a hostel. The money I have left (3.17€) I already have a purpose for. So this is it. The rest of the trip is fully dependent on the Compassion and Grace of my Heavenly Father and the people He loves and directs (which could be literally anyone). It's about to get real. I feel like I'm jumping off a... Cliff? Waterfall? Bridge? Jungle gym? ____________?

Day 4ish & 5: Cirauqui/Estella/Villamayor de Monjardin

I left the bar, but quickly returned after getting about 400 meters down the road because I forgot to get my sello!! A sello is a stamp that we have to get in our Camino credenciales. I'm not 100% sure on how often you're supposed to get one. Or if a hostel or bar would give me one even if I don't use their facilities or pay them...? I'll have to look into that. What I didn't tell you about the bar is that when I first passed by the owner as I was looking for a cafeteria, I said "Hola" and she just stared at me. Didn't say a word. I thought that was rude. Ironically, I ended up in her bar anyway. Ha
She was responded with suggestions as I ordered food, but I still wouldn't say she was friendly. And she is obviously a friendly person because when no new customers arrived, she was just sitting down, having drinks with her regulara, and chatting it up.
However. However, when I came back to get the sello she was very nice to me. She even cracked a smile when I complimented on her cute her sello (stamp) was. She asked where I was off to, complimented me on my Spanish, and wished me a "Buen Camino". That's more like it.

I was off. Why did I leave Puente la Reina? Why?? Had I been forewarned (or even checked) the heat, I would've stayed put. Walking to Cirauqui seemed like a mistake--95F with next to no shade.

My sunglasses broke (probably last night when I was laying on Betsy). So pilgrims have this weird custom in which they leave broken or unwanted items on/within rock pillars (cairns). So I left mine on one with a little note that says "I have no super glue. But maybe you do?" Hopefully someone with super glue needed sun glasses.

As I walked I started to notice my feet filling up with hives. I had worn my Tevas today for the blisters to heal. I decided it would be wise to stop and medicate them. I figured Lavendar essential oil would be a safe start (thanks, Jaime!!). Maybe I overworked them? Maybe they skipped 1st degree burn and went straight to 2nd? Maybe I stepped on a plant and this is a reaction? Maybe putting thieves on my blisters was not a good idea? Nonetheless, I figured I'd stop, let my paws rest, and whip out the uke for a bit. Sometimes I regret having brought it, but I'm sure a greater purpose will be revealed at some point. I put some socks on under my Tevas in case the hives were sun sensitive. Onward lady! Pausing in any given shade (great or small) was necessary.

I made it to the first little town, Maneru. Two elderly man sat on a bench at the entrance and hailed me over to the fountain they were near to fill my water bottle that I carried in my hand. More compliments on my Spanish. I'm not sure if I just still mess grammar up enough to know I'm not native, but my accent's what's good...? I've seen Spaniards that look just as white as me, so it can't be the looks... You don't compliment a person you know is native on how well they speak. Or even foreigners for that matter. The only foreigners whose English I've ever complimented on were ones who were fishing for compliments on such.

I thanked them and continued through the town.

Walked a little further by a bar where two tables were having lunch on the patio. The first table of germans hailed me down.
"Hey, where are you from?"
"The United States. I don't usually where white socks with sandals; my feet are just burned. I could see how that could throw you off though."
The other table grabbed my attention.
The gentleman inquired in broken English "Where in the United States are you from?"
"California"
"There are others... California... Pilgrims... Yesterday..."
"Hablas español, no?"
"Si!"
And we began chatting in Spanish.
"Wait... You're not from California. You sound like a Mexican."
My ghetto lingo must be a dead giveaway. I make joke. I think what it tends to be that's different is Mexicans make everything cute: ahorita, aguita, lechita, ratito. They add the itos and itas to the end of all their words as if to imply everything as being so d
ainty and cute. Spainiards, not so much.

The gentleman and his sister (I thought to be his wife at the time) were enjoying lunch with a Danish lady they had just met. I chatted with them for a while. He also complimented me on my Californian accent. Why thank you. I've been working on this badboy for what's going on 25 years. Thanks for noticing.
Nah, he just said Californians talk cute.

"Well, I better keep walking in this heat."

2km, they said. Two very long kilometers.

But I got to walk through Napa Valley for part of it! Maybe not. But there were vineyards! It was nice.

I finally came to the 13th century town where I'd be staying, Cirauqui. A city on a hill. Hikes up the streets like San Francisco. All I wanted to do was get Betsy off my back. I was looking for the Parish albergue where they only receive donations rather than a fixed rate. My 2016 pdf of albergues was wrong. This ones been gone for 6 years, a local. The only albergue was 11€ per night and because it was a small town, there was no great place to sleep. And I had walked 30k+.

"We're down in the bar" the note on the desk said. A very hippy vibe in this albergue. I went for the owner and she charged me, stamped my credencial, and gave me the rundown.
"Great Spanish! Where'd you learn?" This is the last one of the trip I'll mention.

She put me in the "American ladies" room. Didn't really connect with any of them. Was that intentional? Shower, launder (in sink on the balcony with the lavender bar soap I brought with), tend to my blistered and hive-infested feet (scissors, hand sanitizer, and NewSkin). The hives must be allergy to something on the path.
The Danish gal peeked her head through the door onto the balcony. I just said a quick "hola", she left, and then I recognized her.

Sandals on. Time to see about dinner and groceries. The store had opened.
On my way down, the Danish gal, Toni, accompanied me.
 She suggested buying groceries to share, so i let her pick out whatever and then we split the cost: Spanish ham, cream cheese, sliced wheat bread, and some other sliced cheese. I went to get us two Cokes from the bar, and we enjoyed our sandwiches and discussed the Camino, the places she's been to in the U.S., and politics up on the balcony of our albergue.
Bedtime. I told her I planned on leaving at 6am. Maybe we'll see eachother again.

In my room, my five other roommates slept. Two snored like bears. And the church bell would sound for the rest of the night every 15 minutes. Ironically, I slept like a hibernating bear. Thoughts before I dozed off: how blessed I am to not be sleeping on a cold concrete floor. I'm in a bed. And it's nice.

At 5:15 I awoke to most of my roommates starting their day. By 6:30 I was the only one still in bed and in the room for that matter.

I looked into Couchsurfing (free global couchsurfing app to see if the requests I'd made the night before had been accepted--one declined). At 7:15 I got up and started getting ready to leave.
Guess who I bumped into on the way to the bathroom? Yep, Toni. We were the lasts ones left in the hostel.

I made a sandwich with some leftover cheese and bread from the night before and waited for her, hoping to walk with company today.
We left our backpacks outside the hostel to go down the road to fill our water bottles at the fountain. I worries they'd get stolen, but when we got back they were still there.

We were on our way out of Cirauqui. Wishing us happy trails was a garden made into a map of the world. So neat. As we took pictures, here came Alyssa (the girl from my graduating class at Del Oro) with a group. I had assumed she'd be towns ahead of me.

Toni and I continued our walk.
We walked through two towns together. (for three or so hours). She reminded me of a mix between my friend Maddie's mom and another gal I know. I got to know a lot more about Denmark and her life. She's a neat gal.
During our walk we came upon a cheery tree! Grace. Barbed-wire kept us limited in what we could reach, but don't doubt that I risked a gash in my elbow to fill a ziplock bag of cherries. I'd started the day in Tevas and socks (for blister's sake) but used or stop to change to boots. I regretted it within minutes.

We stopped in the first town. As I waited on a bench inside a bar (Toni was using the restroom/getting water) a man I'd met a few days earlier offered to buy me something to drink, but I declined. Grace?
We left again for the next town. Toni asked me to stay on the lookout for a walking stick. Found a stick on our walk. Success.
It was so sunny and hot today. Shade was rare and precious. After resting in a shady spot for several minutes, Toni offered me a pomegranate licorice drop from Denmark. Grace. I need to get these! So good. Back to tevas.

2nd town. There was a swimming pool. We stopped and I inquired the cost for pilgrim use. Toni decided to stay and go for a dip. She suggested I continue on if I were not to swim. I saw Georgia and Katie (american gals from before) and introduced them to Toni. I went on alone to next city.

Hot, tired, and gross, I finally arrived in Estella. I sat on the steps of a medieval church and ate my leftover cherries and bread.
Georgia and Katie passed by again.
Time for a 2hr nap in the shade. I even dreamed. Good, deep rest.

Estella smells like Spanish cured ham and cheese. It made me crave cheese. That should be my next stop, I thought.
A guy on a bicycle stopped by my nap area and started using drone to take videos of the church. The drone sounded like a cluster of honeybees with gas. Do bees get gas?

Brush off the dirt and twigs from my body and my Betsy, and onward I go.
First I want cheese, but everything's close. Darn siesta.

Kept walking.
Along the path I came upon a grocery store called "Simply". Cheese!!
It was kind of like a K-mart/Raleys. They even sold hiking boots. I got myself a baguette, cheese, salami, 2 bananas, 2 tomatoes, and a cold latte. This should last me a few days.
On my way.

In the next town over there were bathrooms open to the public (and I forgot to take advantage of Simply). So I stopped at the bathrooms.
I carefully considered and finally chose to take off my sports bra. My shoulders are blistered. I'm only wearing a thin cotton shirt, but I'll be walking alone, so it's okay.

I continue on only to stop at a famous wine fountain. This is the best moment of the trip yet.
This fountain of the Irache Bodegas (Irache Cellars) has an old fountain that pours out red wine. The best red wine you could imagine.
Because I came in the mid-afternoon, all the other pilgrims had already been through and only two tourists and a priest resided in the area. They quickly left and I was left all to myself. I cleaned out my latte cup and poured myself some wine. I broke off a piece of my baguette. I had communion. I read The Last Supper in Matthew 26 aloud and then prayed as tears streamed down my cheeks. I have been taking communion for over 21 years. Never in my life have I cried during communion. This pilgrimage is teaching me so much about so much about what Jesus Christ actually did for me. Not teaching my brain, but my heart. I've known all my life. I've taught the story over 50 times. I could recite it to you by memory starting with Adam in the Garden of Eden. And then backwards. But my heart has never connected to it so deeply before today. Carrying Betsy around for miles, soar and in pain, in the hot sun. And Jesus did that with a cross. That he would be nailed to. And he carried it after he'd been beat up and then whipped. What love is this?

This thought came to mind as I took the bread and wine. Not sure why I thought this, but I'm gonna leave this here as part of my account:
Bread needs wine to be complete. Eating bread makes you aware of your thirst and need for wine. The law makes us aware of our sin and our need for the blood of Christ.

A few people passed by as I savored my wine. A van with two creepy men pulled up. One toothless. They were smoking and filled up their bottles with wine. Right next to the sign that says "Please don't abuse our generosity."
I got nervous. They were speaking in Basque. After their bottle was full, they jumped in their janky, blue van and continued down the same path I was supposed to. What of they were heading to the same town I was? What if they were to wait for me there?
Maybe I'll take the alternate route in case.

I headed down the road and bumped into a group of greek guys making a documentary about The Camino called The Quest (@tvshowquest).

I was a little skeptical to go with them since they're all men, but just prayed for protection and trusted God to signal. "Don't be scared. You can come with us," assured Alkis.

They're doing the Camino similarly to me. Sleeping in tents and living cheaply.
At first I just walked with Alkis and Soltiris, but later Dinos and Polis caught up, too.
We stopped at a campground with a sports center and pools. Alkis had me ask about prices. 60€ for 5 people and 2 tents. Ridiculous. We left.
I enjoy listening and guessing the topic of their discussions in Greek. And I'm already making a list of new words.

We walked and chatted. Should've kept my bra on though...
They stop to smoke. We stop to rest.
All four of them are over 30 years old working on this documentary show.
They have over 50 kilograms in equipment alone. I think they're trying to set me up with Tolis, the youngest. He used to be a barista in a coffee shop. He's the director and editor of the show. I'm making it a point to be open about my faith and my morals to maintain respect and prevent anything else. They're Greek Orthodox, but they get it. And you know how in My Big Fat Greek Wedding Gus has super Greek pride? That's a real thing.
When Dinos and Tolis still hadn't caught up with us yet:

Me: "Your friends will find their way, they're smart guys."

Alkis: "Of course they are smart. They are Greek."

I laughed silently.

We made it to the first town, but the only place open was too expensive. The Black Pearl. After we left Alkis said he was pretty sure the lady there was a witch. I wouldn't know.

Another 2km and we arrived to Villamayor de Monjardin.

We found a bar. They got beers. I got coffee. They shared their sandwiches with me. Grace.

I bumped into the Spaniards from that small town that liked my Californian accent. They're so nice.

Hives on my legs. :-(

We already found a general place for their tents. I'll sleep in the grass next to them. I'll insist.

Tomorrow we'll share the food I bought today. Alkis and I shook on sharing. I feel okay. I feel protected.