Day 29: Sarria & Ferreiros

The snores were bad last night. Real bad. It was probably a competition that no one told me would be happening. We had around 15 participants in our room full of 70. The gold medal went to the gal on the bottom bunk of the bed to my left. Well done.
I got in just before midnight and tucked myself in. I even brushed my teeth at the bar so I wouldn't have to flash my light around the bunkbed maze to get to the bathroom in the far corner. Two minutes after I was snug in my sleeping liner with the wool blankey over me, I hear a loud yell in Spanish coming from the left side of the room. It was a long phrase of some sort. I heard the words "desvelar" (stay-awake) and some loud mumbles. Someone was sleep talki... Sleep shouting. I held my giggles in the palm of my hand.

6:07 I woke up. Lainey was rolling around, too. We hopped out of bed and started the "get-ready-to-go" routine. The Camino is so full of routines. Pilgrims with me have talked a lot of how much the Camino ends up being a small scale reflection or model of the large scale life. Life is full of hills (ups & downs), routines, heavy burdens, engaging people and not, sharing with others and not. But you can see it better along this yellow-arrow-marked path. You see yourself and your actions and you're like, "Why do I do that? Why do we do this?"

So Lainey, Chris, and I headed on our way. It was 6:30 and still a little dark out. The hospitalero gave us Camino stickers as we passed him outside the albergue. I put mine in my second credencial that I'm trying to fill up. Walking out of the town I saw the female pilgrim statue I've been looking for. So many cities, and even small villages sometimes, have statues of a generic Pilgrim with a gourd (as a canteen, I suppose), a shell, and a staff. But they're always male. And this one was a lady. And she had to shells. I was happy to see her. Hey, that's me!

So we walked. Along the rivers. Through the fern forests. And the ivy. The tree trunks covered in deep green ivy. And the farm towns we passed through. And the tree tunnels. Today's walk was, by far, the most beautiful yet. It was a unanimous comment made by the pilgrims.
We're liking these earlier mornings. Beat the heat. Two hours into our walk, the three of us stopped for first breakfast. I ordered coffee and biscocho (coffee cake). The lady was sweet and gave me a heaping helping of the biscocho, too. But this bar was honestly gross. It made me gag to think about most of the day. You know that expression "droppin' like flies"? Today I got. Three flies dropped dead before my eyes on the COUNTER of the bar. Seven more dropped dead on the floor. What could cause this insect mortality epidemic in this bar? I didn't want to think about it. The lady was sweet, but I just wanted to get the heck outta there.  Before we took off we ran into the couple from Slovenia. I love seeing them. They're always so smiley and nice. I also bumped into Pascual and Pepe. Pepe serenaded me as we walked onto the patio. Is this guy wasted all the time? I dunno. We exchanged a kiss on each cheek (AKA traditional Spanish greeting) and I waved goodbye to all my Camino people.

We left. Another 45 minutes or so and we were in the city of Sarria. We stopped for whole wheat grain bread at a street corner bakery. I'm dealing with a lack of pleasant customer service at certain places, like this one. I wonder if it's Betsy's fault. They see the backpack and they roll their eyes, are cold and curt, and refuse to make eye contact. I dunno. The bread's warm and fresh, at least.

We take our bread up the hill where we sit in a bar and order a couple slices of Spanish tortilla to split as we munch our very fresh bread with peach jam. The women's bathroom is decorated with Audrey Hepburn and the toilet seat is some sexy pin-up black and white someone-a-rather. I probably wouldn't have thought much of it had Lainey not said "Enjoy the bathroom," when I got up to go.

We paid for breakfast and headed up the hill. There was some kind of renaissance street festival/market going on. Leather artisanal goods, smelly homemade candles, and some guy on stilts that I avoided.

I waited at the top of the hill for Chris and Lainey as they stopped into a grocery store for some produce. And then we head out.

Both in Sarria and along the trail leaving Sarria we walked along Andre and his Italian pops. We have get so much enjoyment from watching Andre's excitement over the Camino. He is almost always twirling a leaf in one hand and every couple of steps turns into a gallop/run. He greets everyone he sees with a "Ciao" or three. He is genuinely joyful. And so is his pops.

We walk through so many stinky farm towns today. Step over or to the side of lots of cow diarrhea along the dirt path (what are they feeding these cows, though, really?). Fountains to fill up water bottles are few and precious. The one we come to in the middle of our 10km walk is ice cold. I cup it over my scalp to cool down from the heat. Pumpkin seeds gave us the energy to keep on keepin' on when the kilometers seemed like they wouldn't end.

We were entering our destination town of Ferreiros. There was a shortcut. I took it. I shouldn't have. At least not without a machete. Half-way in I had to turn back and take the regular path. It took the whole 10 minutes, but I eventually caught back up with Chris and Lainey.

We checked into our hostel. Now that we're in the region of Galicia, we will find very cheap, modern, stark hostels run by the government and staffed by locals. The lady who took our credencials, passports, and 6€ was 20 hues of adorable. Short and stout with a classic Disney grandma voice. I wanted to keep her. I can be her Belle and she can be my Disney grandma.

We plopped our bags near our beds and headed to the bar to see about buying some vegetables and pasta off them. I ordered a glass of milk with ice and a banana. The bartender looked at me as if I were a martian who just ordered a glass of milk with ice and a banana. Who's to say I'm not? They sold us carrots, tomatoes and an onion for 0.80€ a piece and pasta for 1€. This would end up being a meal for less than 2€ for each of us, and that didn't have meat. The three of us feel a little sick from all the ham we've been eating here. Tuna or ham, that's all Spainards seem to eat on a regular basis. Our tummies can't deal, so we're nixing it.

I finished my glass of milk and we headed back to the hostel. Afternoon routine: shower and laundry. However this time with laundry we shared a machine rather than hand-washing. Our clothes came out smelling so fresh. We've missed the smell. We hung out at the bar again while our clothes were in the cycle.

I sipped a coke in the corner with Chris and Lainey and their overpriced beers. The three of us were on our phones. A French gal we had met a few days ago sat near us with her tea. We asked a few questions about her Camino and she asked a few, and then we went back to our phones. I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was looking at us. Maybe she still wanted to talk and maybe we were being jerks for being on our phones. She finished up her tea and left without saying a word. I felt bad. But also, if I can justify it, on the Camino you are talking and socializing for most of the day. Especially if you walk with a group. And getting to wifi in a bar is a great chance to escape and zone out. At every bar we stop at, Lainey, Chris, and I pull out our phones. And it's a mutual understanding we share. Because the entire rest of the day (unless to take pictures or listen to music) our phones are put away and we are completely open to conversation. But maybe we're wrong. Maybe we should be more thoughtful and maybe French lady walked alone all day and just wanted someone to talk to. I dunno. I hope I get another chance to engage her in conversation. Hopefully I'll do it different.

At the bar I Facetimed my folks; got to see my favorite nephew and favorite big brother. Hung up with them to go hang laundry to dry. Later came back to one of my shirt filthy. Must've fallen in the dirt and someone picked it up for me.

I napped for a bit, and them Lainey and I somehow made dinner in this very unequipped kitchen. We made a pasta vegetable soup and had some avocado bread and peach jam bread. It was quite lovely and quite filling.

After we cleaned up, I sipped an instant coffee while I looked for jobs in Barcelona for when I get back in a few days and apartments in Madrid for in a few months. Life is so funny.

Day 28: Fonfria, Triacastela, and Samos

Darkness. My brain was on hibernate rather than sleep mode. My phone was charging in the bathroom overnight and I wanted to be the first one to it. The Camino has been considerate, but you can't be too trusting. Grabbed my phone, packed my bedding, and dragged my bag into the common room. The bar was already open at 5:45am even though it was still dark. No sign of sun yet. I used the bar bathroom to get ready in order to let the other pilgrims sleep without extra noise. Rather than take off early as I originally had in mind, I opted to wait for Chris and Lainey to be ready so I could wait under a wool blanket on the couch a little longer. We were heading out just as the sun was rising a little after six. We walked separately in a line until the first town where the cows warranted a stop and a looksee. Big ole heifers munching the leaves from the trees. Lainey and I walked together and chatted the rest of the day. Today would be an easy walk mostly downhill and through small farm towns like yesterday. We stopped for a nice breakfast at a bar in Fonfria. I ordered OJ and a coffee and we shared toast with jam and Spanish apple pie. Lainey and I used the wifi to exchange a few favorite YouTube videos involving kids. "Is it really in there?" (in a British accent) is a phrase she's been repeating the past week, so it was necessary that I see the hilarious video that inspires this quote.

Down the hills we went once more.
We eventually made it to Triacastela, a slightly larger farm town. Here they live in stone barn homes. The bottom floor is where they keep their livestock and grains, the top floor is the house. Different.

We stop for a second breakfast of patatas fritas (french fries) and bread. We bump into these sweet ladies from Ashland, OR--Bev and Jodi--at many of our stops. Pretty middle-aged friends doing the Camino together. They might have connections to my best friend who lives up there.

We made the plan to go to the monastery in Samos for the night, so we planned to take the alternate route. It would only be another 10km, so maybe 2 hours or so.
Lainey and I walk together and talk about life. We've been able to connect a lot based on similar families and church experiences and even personalities, really. I enjoy her company more and more every day.

With just 3km (a half hour) to go we stop a sit on the side of the path to crack and eat the walnuts and hazelnuts Gaspar had gifted me. We use rocks, hands, teeth... Whatever we can to crack and enjoy these nuts. I share some with the Slovenian man I keep seeing along the trail. His wife is so cute. She always thanks me when she sees me because I suggested switching to sandals rather than her boots to recuperate from her many blisters. It's helped immensely, she says.
I can pretty regularly alternate between my boots and my sandals to maintain blister-free.

After going through a tunnel of tropical-looking trees and ferns, we arrive in Samos, home of the oldest running monastery on the western side of the world.  It's beautiful and quaint.

We arrive to the monastery albergue stocked with 35 bunks, however the hospitaleros are out to lunch, so we drop our bags and head across the street to the bar. Lainey said something about a sign advertising sangria, so I order one just for the heck of it. Oh. My. Gosh. I could drink this sangria all day long. I compliment the bartender on it. He says it sits in a glass container for two days after the mixing process. It tastes like Christmas. It actually reminds me a lot of ponche, a fruit cider in Mexico. I really could've spent the whole afternoon drinking several of these sangrias, but I stopped at one since it was a bit strong. We head back to check-in to the albergue, shower, and do laundry.

We headed back across the street and up to the bar patio. A pair of Spanish old guys grabbed my attention and insisted I take a seat. They shared with me their own perspective on Camino culture. The one guy was 4..5..12 sheets to the wind. Not sure how many drinks in he was, but every one noticed. Spaniards use a lot of hand-movements and sound effects when they tell stories... And even more so when they're drunk.
"There are three vitamins on the Camino..." they both started to inform me, "Actually, why don't you guess them. They're the "er" vitamins."
"Comer (eat)."
"Uh-huh."
"Beber...? (drink)"
"Yep..."
"And..."
"Jo... (fu**...) ah, but the Camino doesn't have any of the last one, so just the first two vitamins."
We all laugh.
"But really," continues Mr. Wastey-pants, "this is what makes the Camino so special. There isn't any of that number three. Everyone is just friends. Nothing more. This is what weeds out anyone that shouldn't be on the Camino... They won't come if they can't have that third one. That's why it's special."
He's right though. The unanimous platonic motives of the Camino make it so enjoyable and safe-feeling. No other pilgrims have made me feel unsafe in a sexual way.
The gentlemen bought me a glass of white Galician wine. Pepe, the drunker one, tried to also order me a tapa of Galician pulpo (octopus), but Pascual (the voice of reason and logic between the two of them) released me to go hang with my friends.

Lainey, Chris, and I head to the grocery store to pick up some snacks: bread, nutella, jam, nectarines, and a tomato. We munch a little on bread by the river. Chris and Lainey dip their feet a little. We were looking for the fluvial beach, but the clerk at the grocery store said it was 2km away. No thanks, Tom Hanks.

After river shenanigans, it's time for a nap. As we head back, an Italian man is looking for the albergue with his autistic adult son. I was so touched. What an amazing thing to enjoy with your son. Physical, enjoying nature, meeting people. They were looking for two beds together in the albergue. Lainey offered up her's so they could be together, but they found another set. The young autistic guy was repeating something about the mountains. You could see in his eyes, his demeanor, that he was truly enjoying this journey with his father.

I fall asleep on my top bunk whilst trying to catch up on blogging. Lainey wakes me up a little bit later since we'd planned to go to mass where the monks would do the chanting Vespers. These are, apparently, the most famous in the world.

We sit in the back row. The Italian father and son come and sit in the back as well. Knowing his senses are heightened, I can't help but imagine what it must be like for that autistic young man to be listening to these beautiful chants in this huge Cathedral. He is so still and so focused on the moment as the voices of the monks and priests echo through the stone chambers of the church.

Mass ends and we head back to the albergue to grab our groceries and munch at the bar over coffee. White bread baguettes have become a dietary staple along the Camino. We season it with tomato and olive oil, nutella, or peach jam.

Everyone goes in to curfew. Since our albergue here doesn't lock, I sneak back out and head across the street to the bar. The bartender who I complimented earlier on his sangria graces me with a large coffee for just a euro. And here I am. Taking in the atmosphere. Recollecting my past few days over a cup of coffee in the cornee of a bar that has "Let it Be" playing over the speakers. It's 22 minutes to midnight. Tomorrow we'll try tomtake off before 6:30. We're less than 80 miles to the finish line. Wow.

Day 27: O'Cebreiro and Alto de Poio

I sleep in until 8:48. Oof, what a comfy bed! What a good sleep! I shower in the morning (which I haven't done in over a month). Gather my things and head down to turn my key into the basket. I check out the dining room for breakfast where another family is eating. I prefer to just get going, so I leave. Breakfast later.

I walk a few towns ahead. These villages are gorgeous. So green and so well taken care of. I make it to a bar to have breakfast and use wifi. I was supposed to meet the gang for breakfast, but hadn't had wifi since I'd seen them. I get a message from Lainey saying they're 30 minutes ahead of me. I wrap up breakfast and go.

Today is a rough day. There is a 600+ meter ascent. That means lots of rests to catch your breath and slower walking. Your pack actually feels heavy, too. By now, my body is typically used to the extra weight, but not on those treks up the mountain. O'Cebreiro. It's a well-known mountain with an important Catholic church at the top. I go through the trees and the clouds of flies that buzz up as I step past the piles of horse dung.

Three towns and I make it to the top of O'Cebreiro. I pass horses tied up to trees by the equestrian pilgrims as I enter the town. When I get to the church, I spy my whole group: Lainey, Olya, Chris, Julia, & Dennis. Their faces light up when they see I've arrived. Within the church are various translations of the Bible (even in the Spanish dialects). Super neat.

We have lunch on a restaurant patio. The gang orders bocadillos and we munch on left-over grocery goods (cheese, chorizo, cucumber).

We head on the road again; Dennis and Olya stay back to visit more. We go through the towns and the heat. Up and down more hills. We rest occasionally.

We finally make it to Alto Poio, where we'll stay the evening. Chicken squawk and the German Shepherds guard the premises. We decide to stay in a hole-in-the-wall bar/albergue combo cause it's cheap. I shower, nap, Lainey wakes me up for a delicious Galician stew (that's the region we're in now, Galicia where they speak and have signs in the Galician dialect. They're known for their octopus, which I haven't tried yet), watch the sunset along the highway with Dennis, Lainey, and Chris, and then do laundry. Hopefully it will dry before the morning. I try to get cozy on the couch in the common room while all are asleep in the bunks room. A wool blanket that kinda smells. Blogging on my phone. Then my bed calls.

Day 26: Villafranca, Trabadelo, Vega de Valcarce, and Herrerias

7:30 and we're all still asleep. I had whispered to Lainey the night before in our bunks that I would wake up and leave by 6:00. Yeah right.

Stanley and David make their way down the hill to come by for breakfast at our hostel. We skip breakfast since it's 4€.

Father Stanley is a Camino celebrity right now. Reasons: 1) He is incredibly friendly and extroverted--no such thing as a stranger to him 2) He's indian and indians are uncommon to see walking the Camino since it's costly (by their standards) and not a Hindu pilgrimage, but rather a Christian one 3) He wears traditional Indian clothes to walk in, which makes him even cooler looking. Everone else is in convertible pants and Northface gear, and here Stanley is in a tunic, 4) He's a priest... Walking the Camino. Perfect.

"Father Stanley, did you ever think you would be a Camino celebrity?" 

"I had no idea. I thought I would be the least noticed man."

Because of his fame, the hospitalero of course wanted pictures with him. They asked us to be in the pictures, too. We took off at 8:30. 

I kinda woke up in a bad mood. Hormones? Exhaustion? Worries? Who knows...?! But I knew I'd only snap out of it with some alone time to think. So I plowed ahead to the front. The way front where everyone else would by out of sight and out of earshot. I thought, and I prayed, and my brain told itself positive things to pull out of the funk.

We reached Villafranca where we were supposed to stay the night before (according to the stages in my guidebook). I'm glad we stayed where we did.

I ordered a fresh orange juice, coffee, and toast with jam. A few minutes later another round of coffee and jam. 

We skedaddle. 

There are three option paths to our next destination. Hard but pretty, medium and kinda pretty, and easy along the road. I try to navigate our smaller group (Lainey, Chris, and Julia) out of Villafranca and onto the medium path, but my map is unclear and quite possibly incorrect. We end up following along the path we hadn't wanted to--the easy road path. I'm disappointed at first, however the path ends up being full of gorgeous views anyway as we walk through the valley, along the rivers, and surrounded by trees of all types (even pines!! Eek!!).

We pass through a few very small forest towns and eventually stop in one for a rest. Julia buys us all ice cream. What a gal!

I've been listening to and singing a lot of Julia Nunes on my iPod, and one of the lyrics to a song says "Julia just settle down" and every time I sing that part I see  out of the corner of my eye that Julia looks back at me. English is her third language, so hearing it she might think, "I swear this chick keeps singing my name." I haven't addressed it yet. It's kind of a game I'm playing. haha

Lainey, Chris, and Julia planned on staying in Trabadelo in the parroquial hostel. I would go on to Vega de Valcarce to visit Edu's parents, but first we head together to where they'll be staying.

As we approach their hostel, a local elderly lady follows us half way up hill just to be friendly. She wants to make sure we know that the hostel we are heading to washes AND irons the bedsheets every day. She's sweet.

As my friends check in, I take advantage of the existence of a toilet, plan on meeting the next day for breakfast, then head out on my own. 

"Recto, guapa" (Straight ahead, pretty lady) says the gentle old man seated on the bench I pass as I leave the town.

I don't want to show up to their home empty-handed, so I buy some local wine and chocolate at a gas station a mile from there home. I also buy some candy and chocolate milk to snack on as I continue my walk. What a sweet tooth I've developed in this last week!

Big red house. Big red house. Big red house? Nope, the street is different than the picture I saw. Big red house. Big red house. There it is. Oh boy. Alright. Okay.

I was so nervous. Meeting strangers who would feed me. For no reason other than their son knows me. 

I open the gate and knock on the door twice. After a minute a disheveled man opens the door.

"Is this the Barrio Fernandez residence?"

"No. Who are you looking for?" he grumbles.

"Edu Fernández Barrio. His parents ate expecting me. Do you know where I could find them?" I asked politely.

"Ah, are there expecting you?"

"Yes."

The uncle, I later found out, guided me around the side of the house to the entrance of Gaspar and Venancia's apartment on the third floor.

First he calls for them a few times, then he goes upstairs to knock, and returns with Gaspar.

"We've been waiting for you," he said a little irritated at first.

He invites me in and we walk up the stairs. On the second floor Venancia kindly greets me with a kiss on each cheek (Spanish custom). 

They had fallen asleep waiting for me. Lunch would've been at 2:00 and it was now 4:30 almost. I felt bad.

I handed Gaspar the bottle of wine and chocolate.

"I brought you this wine from very, very far away," I sarcastically confessed. He looked at the label and chuckled.

"This is good stuff."

We walked up the stairs to the kitchen in their apartment. Their home is split into four apartments. I guess like a quadplex? But it's huge. They heat me up a delicious lunch of soup, pork chops, salad, and bread. After the awkward greetings subsided I right away felt like part of the family. So hospitable. So kind. I felt like I'd known them for years. As if they were my own family. Gaspar cut me pieces of artisan bread over the table cloth.

No sooner did I finish my last bite of dinner, that they had coffee on the stove and were discussing dinner. They insisted I stay for dinner (which would be around 9) and that they'd drive me to the next town where I'd stay in a room Edu's best friend David had reserved for me in his fancy hotel.

While sipping my coffee, I mentioned I'd put the liquor Crema de Orujo in a cup of coffee a few days prior. They both grinned at eachother, Gaspar stoop up and stepped toward the cabinet from which he pulled out a bottle of white liquor. Orujo. Pure orujo. And strong. They allowed me to pour a bit into my coffee. They stopped me before even a quarter shot. Apparently its equivalent would be Moonshine as far as strength goes. And it's homemade of residue from wine-making.   

Gaspar left to go tinker in his mechanic shop down the street while Venancia and I chatted in the doily covered living room while we chatted with telenovelas on in the background. Occasionally she would give me the backstory on a seen between our conversation about our families. 

I called David to let him know I'd arrived in  town and that I'd stay for dinner. He said he wanted to go out for drinks later, so I needed to shower. 

Venancia got me all set up with towels, shampoo, and even a hairdryer (oof, the luxuries I've missed). I got all clean and out of sweaty clothes. Mmm.

Time for Venancia to do round two of outdoor chores: collect/fold laundry, feed the cats, and feed and lock-up the chickens. I stood by the creek that runs by their house and admired their community garden and the forest behind her house in the cool afternoon breeze. She escorted the chickens into the coop by shaking their tin of food. How do you call a cat? "Meow", "Psspss", "Here kittu, kitty"? Venancia calls her outdoor cats (one that only had a pom-pom for a tail since birth) by saying "Meass, meass". Maybe it's a Spain thing. Or maybe it's just a Venancia thing, but it's adorable. She's adorable. And gorgeous. A stunning grandma. 

We went back inside to get started on dinner. All afternoon I offered to help with dishes and meal prep and she refused. "You just relax and rest," she demanded.

I colored at the dining room table in my adult coloring book while she cooked up tapas: fried calamari, croquetas (mashed potato balls, I think), and Spanish tortilla. Gaspar comes back from the shop and grabs me a coke, gets out some home-jarred peppers, and homemade wine. Amazing. All of it. 

We eat with the tv on. It's the news. They fill me in on the corruption of one of the political parties.

After supper, Venancia got out some thick, sweet jam and sliced cheese to put on the artisan bread for dessert. She, yet again, brewed me up some rich espresso. Constant thoughtfulness. Constant.

While Venancia gets ready to go, Gaspar and I laugh at "Top 5" comedy show. Gaspar graces me with a whole bag of walnuts and hazelnuts to take for the road. Venancia comes back and gives me a roll of cookies. The generosity is unrelenting. 

They drive me a few towns ahead (7min) to where the hotel is. David, who grew up playing with their son, greeted us and offered to buy drinks. Gaspar and Venancia stayed for a few minutes for tea and wine to catch up. David runs the family hotel with his sweet sister. He escorted me to my lovely, rustic room (with two beds!) to leave my stuff and then we exchanged goodbyes and kisses with Gaspar and Venancia. 

David wanted to take me out to a bar. The first one we drove to was closed, so we backtracked to a close one. We enjoyed rum and lemon Fanta while he smoked and we chatted in the wood-walled, medieval bar. He took me back to my room. I had to fidget with the key to get in, and he came running back up the stairs to assist, but I got the door open.

It was so nice to end the day sleeping in a room with no one else. Peace and quiet. No loud breathing. No snores. Just me. All thanks to the Grace of strangers.

Day 25: Molinaseca, Ponferrada, Cacabelos, and Pieros

5:48 wake, bunch my sleeping bag liner in a ball, and gather my phone and jacket. Half-hazardly tip toe down the creaky, wooden stairs to the bottom floor bathroom. There's one toilet for 10 girls who will all need to use it before breakfast at 6:30.

I decide to french-braid my hair, which has been hard to do since it's been drying funky.

Lend Lainey one of my jackets because of the chill. 

Breakfast toast/jam, I make a mocha using the instant coffee and cocoa powder, and there are crackers.

Down hill today. It can feel rough on those knees. After going through a few quiet neighborhoods early in the morn, we come upon an outdoor bar oasis tun by a pretty Bulgarian gal who fell in love on the Camino and stayed in Spain to run a Camino bar with the love of her life. It had a similar hippie, buddhist, positive vibe like Suzie and David's oasis from the other day, but with a commercial twist. There were hammocks and beachy furniture there on the grass yard of her home. Even a small kids swing set and teeter-totter off to the side.  I ordered a coffee with the crema de orujo liquor. I unraveled my rolled up fortune: CHANGE. Hmm. We enjoyed the atmosphere and conversation, then continued on. 

While walking down the hill, we passed a handful of people from Carmichael, which was fun chatting with them for a moment as we navigated over the loose rocks. 

We arrived to Molinaseca and ventured into the church first thing. Scratch that. Lainey and I peed behind the church first thing and then we went inside. By Camino standards, that's much more normal than it sounds.

Inside the church, the main pews were separated from the pulpit/altar/elite pews by a floor-to-ceiling gate. I wish I'd had my Camille or Father Stanley there to explain the purpose of the gate. I hadn't seen it in any other churches. The church was decorated with dolls that I'd assumed were saints and other important people. However there was one doll that was dressed in a dark monk robe that had charcoal black skin. It was a little odd and out of place. It looked like it was supposed to be a saint that was burned up or something. The volunteer gal who stamped our credenciales said it's an unknown saint that an unknown person brought from Italy. 

As we entered the city more, we came across pilgrims on horse backs. "The horses should get the Compostela certificate, not the riders," Olya half-joked.

Molinaseca had something I haven't seen yet on this trip. It's called a fluvial beach. It's basically a public swimming hole ik a river equipped with railings. It was a little too chilly to swim otherwise we would've tried it out.

We walked passed a bar that had this sign:

"Homemade tortilla made by my mom"

We stopped in a small store and I got candy. They have German raspberries which is one of my favorite candies (thanks to my mama). I loaded up a bag with these and others to share with my buds. Olya and I also split a tuna empanada. Spaniards like tuna a lot, but they eat it hot mostly, which my tongue isn't so sure of.

We began to leave town, when Olya realized she'd left her walking stick somewhere. She insisted we go on without her. Chris and Lainey were several minutes ahead of us. I got in my zone and just walked behind the other pilgrims along the side of the road. At some point I saw some arrows across the street along side a dirt road in the vineyard and realized that all off us werw off the Camino path. I crossed the street to get on it and found myself to be the only pilgrim actually on the Camino path. It only took me about a half mile along the vineyard before it combined with the ither pilgrims on the road again.

Booking along, I eventually caught up with Chris in Lainey. In the next town we stopped for water at the underground Roman fountain, except the water was untreated so we just looked at it.

When we came back up we saw Julia, wo the four of us walked together into Ponferrada. 

The first thing we see as we enter Ponferrada (as I sit on the cement switching into Tevas) is that their are two bridges adjacent to eachother. One is a medieval Roman bridge made of stone, the other a modern, 21st century bridge with glass siding. Such a contrast, but such a great representation of Spain as a whole. 

Uphill we go through the streets and come upon a huge castle that welcomes us to this poppin' city. We cross the mote to peek inside, but skip the paid tour this time. A few hundred feet down the road and we fin ground fountains for kiddos to play through in the square that leads to the basilica. We enter in and it takes a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. It's gorgeous. Massive. Silent.

Walking through the square, past the restaurants, I see a sign with a picture of a blended coffee drink "Frappelatte". Yes please. I order one with whip. Everything my tongue has been wanting and my eyes haven't found on this trip. It was delightful. 

We pop into a grocery store. I pick up a baguette, chorizo, sheep cheese, a cucumber, and cherry tomatoes. Julia and I follow Lainey and Chris with a groceries to the kebab restaurant where they eat lunch. We sit on the sidewalk patio set and much our grocery goods while listening to the faint recital of an opera singer in one of the apartments above us. What a moment.

The for of us head on our way. It's around 2 o'clock and we still have another 17km to get to our destination town.

We walk through several small towns. I climb a tree to get Lainey and I cherries on the side of the road. I didn't grow up in Penryn, CA for nothin'. The tree climbing and rock hopping I learned to do on those ten acres growing up has proven the most handy. 

We stop for water in every town. In one town we stop under and awning covered in vines. The white, stone statue has nipples and public hair graffitied onto it. We sit on the benches and pop sunflower seeds into eachother's mouths.

Onward we go. It's becoming more common that we have to step to the far side of the path to let wide tractors pass. Farming country.

Lainey and I stop into a cemetery that catches my attention. It has cubbies. I have never seen this before. Lainey says she's seen it in the States. It kind creeps me out. Cubbies full of corpses.

We begin to pass through more vineyards. Wine country.

We reach the bottom of a hill and I pee behind some trees. Chris sees a post on a tree for a hostel for only 6€ that serves a vegetarian meal (Chris and Lainey are vegans). I call the number listed and a sweet Brittish gal answers the phone and ends the call saying she'll have hot tea waiting for us. I feel welcomed already and still have 4km before we get there. We go through Cacabelos. They also have one of those fluvial beaches. It's full of people sunbathing on the green grass and kids diving into the river one after the other. How appetizing that looks after such a long day of walking in the heat, but our hostel will be another mile up the hill, so we continue. On our way out we pass the parish hostel at the church of Cacabelos. I spy a Father Stanley, so swing by to catch up.

We continue uphill.

We finally arrive to the top and walk down another side hill to get to our hostel. We are welcomed by spicy tea a warm smiles.  We had the expectation of a donativo dinner based on something about the flier posted, but it's actually 10€. I opt out. I still have food from the store. 

I shower, shave my pits (it was time), and do my laundry. Munch on dinner while chatting with a German girl named Yokur as she smokes a cigarette. I fashion her an ash tray out of some tinfoil I had.

Our hostel has no wifi, so I opt to look for one. The town of Pieros where our hostel is nestled is small. Only one bar and it's already closed. I decide to make my way back down the hill about a mile a way to Cacabelos. I use the wifi to Facetime my folks. They'll get to see my brother, sis-in-law, and favorite nephew in a matter of hours. Most hostels have curfews, but I forget to check the one for ours. At 10pm I hang up with my folks and make my way out of the city by 10:05 guessing the curfew might by 10:30. I consider hitch-hiking bac up the hill, but never do. By 10:27 I have yet to reach the top, so sprint a little just in case.

When I finally make it up and then down the hill to our hostel, I'm thankful to see the front door wide open. The kind hospitaleros are chatting around the dinning table.

"Everything okay?" Lou, the Brittish lady, asks.

"Yeah."

I try to quietly grab my things to brush my teeth and then climb up my rustic bunk bed.

Lainey and I whisper to eachothers from our top bunks about how our evenings went and any plans we have for the morning and then wish eachother a goodnight.

I was in an off most of the evening which made it so I didn't enjoy the beautiful hostel as much. The volunteers made for a loving experience that I feel I rejected by not participating in dinner, in the evening toured walk with the group, or even conversation. I picked the wrong night to be disconnected, so hopefully I'll have the chance to redo my visit at this sweet hostel at a time when I'm not being a grumpous.

Day 24: Cruz de Ferro & Acebo

I was one of the first up and at 'em in our dorm this morning. I dragged my pack into the library to arrange things. At 6:30 it was time for coffee and toast/jam. After breakfast I went back up the stone stairs to the library to play on their guitar one last time. Beautiful Spanish guitar with nylon strings. I made sure no pilgrims were still sleeping. Plucking and playing around, trying to keep it quiet and soft, suddenly the hospitelero comes in (same guy from yesterday) and without saying a word, slams the library door shut. It was offensive. I put the guitar away embarrassed. I need another coffee.

The trails are getting beautiful again with all the pine trees and new kinda of rocks. It was really windy, so I wore my rain jacket over my fleece with both hoods on since the wind was hurting my ears. I walk with Chris and Lainey for the first 15 minutes or so, then I go a little faster uo ahead. I pass a lot of people on the trail. A lot of new pilgrims have joined in, and it's making me realize how conditioned and used to my pack I am compared to them after being on the Camino for over three weeks now. 

  

Flashback to a month and a half ago. I'd heard about this Cruz de Ferro thing. I knew you were supposed to carry a rock with you and leave it at this pile of rocks at the foot of an iron cross atop a mountain at some point along the Camino. I had a small collection of rocks I'd collected at a beach back in January. I'd probably take one of these. I opened the small wooden box where they were stored on my shelf and picked one that was small with a large enough hole to thread through some string. A week later I was sitting on the floor of a gate in Minneapolis waiting for my plane to board to fly to Iceland. I had brought four pieces of thread that I began to braid chevron style and used the braid to tie my rock to my backpack (you may now know her as Betsy). I didn't know what the rock would mean to me, but I knew it would come. I knew there was something I needed to surrender to God at some iron cross along the hike I would take in Spain, but I didn't know what.

Four weeks later, I was walking along a dirt road with Camille pouring my heart out. My struggle. The self-doubt that had taken over so many aspects of my life like a nasty, thick weed that would keep growing and would choke the life out of things that were supposed to be beautiful. Like friendships. Like quality time. Like self-confidence. 

I recognized it. And I recognized that the root of this weed was in forgiveness I had withheld from the person who all these years I have blamed for starting the weed. This would be my surrender. This is what I'd need to leave my rock for. 

Today on the walk up to the Cruz de Ferro is when I forgave the person who had first questioned me of being homosexual 11 years ago. Before that point my sexuality was no question. It really didn't even exist yet. I always knew I was heterosexual. But what started with one question, turned my life and my introspection for a whirl. I have suffered auto-torment, self-doubt, identity conflict, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-hatred, and mere confusion for the past 11 years. The comments and presumptions, although seldom, still continued. They even started to come from other people and other places. I'm sure if any of these people had foreseen the repercussions of their words, they'd have never said them. We never know. But this Camino has brought me back to a point of having confidence and doubtlessness in who I am when it comes to my sexuality. I am not making my choice because it's what society wants. I'm not making my choice because it's what religion wants. I'm not even making my choice because it's what the person/people I'm forgiving want. I'm choosing to be heterosexual because that's what I want for me. I made a decision that I will no longer doubt myself. I was going to leave this specific doubt at the foot of the Cruz de Ferro today. It will never torment me again.  

Early this morning as I walked up the first part of the mountain, I prayed. I told God that this is the thing I wanted to surrender and that I wanted to forgive. The second part of the hill, I took my uke out of the case and bilingually played a song by Kari Jobe. The lyrics fit the moment and setting perfectly:

You never change, you are the God you say you are;

When I'm afraid you calm and still my beating heart.

You stay the same, when hope is just a distant thought,

You take my pain and you lead me to the cross

What love is this, that you gave your life for me

And made a way for me to know you

And I confess you're always enough for me you're all I need

I look to you, I see the scars upon your hands.

And hold the truth, that when I can't you always can.

And standing here beneath the shadow of the cross.

I'm overwhelmed that I keep finding open arms.

I have felt so wavering these past 11 years. So uncertain. But what confidence I can have in knowing that I serve a God that never wavers. Never changes. He's constant and true.

When I approached the cross above the rock pile, I took off my pack and played the song through one last time. With passion, gratitude, and all the feels. When I finished the last chord, I laid the uke down, took out my knife and cut the braid that held the rock on my pack. It felt like such a freeing moment. Like I was cutting away that weed, those chains of self-doubt that have caused me so much harm these past years. And suddenly I was free. It wasn't instantaneous healing. It's been a process over the past few years especially. But I reached the apex of my healing there on that mountain at the Cruz de Ferro. I laid the rock below the cross, and with it I left my self-doubt. 

Never again will I let those thoughts torment me.

After I had my moment at the Cruz de Ferro, I just hung out taking pictures for people (like this friendly, chatty guy from China, Xuhey) and waited for our group to be all together again. Half of them wanted to stay longer, so I took off with Lainey and Chris. We stopped at a one-family, 12th century village that had an albergue full of flags, swords, signs, just decor galore. Lainey and I both stopped to pee on the said of the trail later up. We came to a food truck (yes, please) and stopped for some bocadillos and to waith for the rest of our group to catch up. We were there for about an hour before eveyone was finally there. Then we spent another hour as a group exchanging jokes and riddles. Dennis had some toughies.

We all walked together (Olya, Lainey, Chris, Julia, & Dennis) to the very small, old, and quaint town of Acebo where we agreed on staying for the night. We're at a parish albergue that is donation-based and run by only one hospitalero. As soon as we got there and were taking turns to be checked-in, Olya and I were rummaging through the left-behind bin. I found a 1.5L Nalgene water bottle. Apparently they're really expensive--Dennis said like 25€. I've just been using one-time-use 1.5 thin plastic water bottle I bought in a minimart in Barcelona, so I've upgraded.

Our hospitalero, Pepe, is super nice. He asked me to translate to the other pilgrims for him. Very accommodating and kind. 0% creepy.

At this particular albergue, we are not permitted to take our boots (normal for albergues) or our backpacks (this is a first) upstairs. Made things a little difficult, but we embraced the challenge. Did my shower/laundry routine and then headed to the grocery store. 

I picked a bottle of red wine to share with dinner later, a coke, a pineapple juice box, and a two stone fruits. The clerk/owner was taking a while in the back before she came to take my money. Turns out she was bagging up fruit she wasn't going to be able to sell and gave it all to me for free.

"That way it doesn't go to waste."

Wow. So grateful!

As I was walking back with my groceries, thinking about what I'd do with all this fruit, a parade of three red Porche tractors passed me by. As I walked up the ramp, a tractor stopped and the male driver shouted to me, "Hey pretty girl, I have a spot for you right here! Come take a ride!" He patted the wheel well. Had I been wearing my manly hiking pants rather than my flattering yoga pants, I doubt this invitation would have been warranted. 

I politely decline as I continued up the side street towards my albergue. I stood with Pepe to finish watching the tractors and then I told him about all the fruit I now had from the clerk to share. He suggested we could make a fruit salad for dessert. He showed me the ingredients he had and said seven o'clock would be a good time to make it. It was still around three at the time.

Before I posted this blog, I wanted to talk to the individual I had forgiven. I would've spoken to them at some point, but out of respect to them this blog called for it to be sooner. I was able to get in contact with that person and we were able to reconcile. It was a really healing moment for me, and I hope for them it will be as well. 

I took a walk around the small town. It only has three and a half streets, so it doesn't take much walking. I found Dennis and we went with Olya and sat by another cross monument that had a beautiful view of the cities and mountains to come. We also walked through the dead grass to the edge of a hill to spy on "probably the best hostel along the Camino" (their advertising, not mine). They had a big pool for swimming laps, green grass, lawn chairs, and big flags from different countries. I told my buds that I give it a 10 for Luxury and a 1 for Camino Spirit.  

I made the fruit salad. Dinner was ready.

Lentil stew, chef salad, and fruit salad with the red wine we shared. Fantastic.

After dinner, we wiped-out the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. A gal was summoned to open up the small church for us. It was tiny, but ornate. And the images and figures looked like russian dolls, Lainey pointed out. Several of us sat on the pews in perfect silence. Silence is so powerful. I'm learning so much about the beauty within silence as I visit these churches here. Most of the time the volunteers who open the church expect a tip, but this time when I tried to tip the gal who opened the church and stayed until we were done, she insisted that I put it in the church box instead. That's a true love for her community.

We all watched the sunset across the mountains over by the same cross monument. Today I have felt purified. My heart feels healthy. My brain feels clean. This was a big day for me. Like a soul surgery that is stitched up.

Day 23: Santa Catalina, El Ganso, & Rabanal

5:03 my twinkle, twinkle alarm goes off. Sometimes I set my alarm for odd minutes because I think it will trick my groggy, morning brain into thinking it's more important to get up. It never does.

I stumble around gathering my bags and my sweater and my cell phone and my Betsy around 5:37. Drag it all out the door to not disturb my roomies. And especially to not awaken greasy, short Spaniard. Don't need none of that at six in the morning, now do we?

Organize my belongings, brush the teeths, then head down to the kitchen to prepare a small breakfast for my Camino fam using the bread, jam, coffee, and sugar I have. They trickle down within the next 15min-45min. We enjoy breakfast on the balcony that overlooks the backside of Astorga as we listen to the faint Vesper music being played on a track over the albergue speaker system. Glorious. This is all-together lovely. Can't believe it's not a dream. 

I organize, as planned, for my pepper spray to be in my hip pocket of Betsy and my utility knife to be on my shoulder strap. We've heard horror stories about the 15km that leaves Astorga, better to be prepared than jeopardized. Everyone's ready. Out the door we go. While we walk through the city--Lainey, Chris, Olya, Julia, and I--we take pictures of the cathedral and the museum in passing. Marching forward. Being cautious. And eating some citrus rock candy (looked like pebbles) from the chocolate store that other pilgrims left behind in the kitchen. 

We eventually make our way through the first town where we just use the bathroom at a bar.

Next town we come through, we stop for breakfast. Olya and I split a coffee, a Spanish tortilla, bread, and a side of Spanish ham I asked for (P.S. flirty son of the owner wants me to tell you that they treat pilgrims very well in Santa Catalina. He gave me the side of ham on the house. The bar/albergue was called either San Blas or El Caminante, in case you ever go). Flirty son of owner was playing some kind of game on the patio where we eating in which you toss stone pucks into the mouth of a metal frog. Any ideas? I tried it twice and failed miserably.

I tuned my uke as we walked out the door. I mostly practice walking my fingers around the uke. It can sound pretty when I go slow. I basically rotate between four distinct ditties, so I'm sure I'll hear other pilgrims humming my tunes in no time. Ha

We arrived to the final town before our destination. El Ganso. The Goose. We snacked on oranges and almonds and used the restroom at the Cowboy Bar.

Last stretch 7+km til touchdown. I mostly walked with Lainey and we had good, meaningful conversation. I feel like we have a lot in common when it comes to our upbringing and character, and it helps that we're the same age. I can always count on Lainey to finish any song I start singing. She's the perfect mix of sweet, old souly, and sarcastic. As we got to the the last 2 kilometers of the stretch, our terrain finally changed from dry fields to funny, lanky oak trees and pine. Which means more shade. Which means happier pilgrims. Shade makes all the difference, especially since the air is drier.

We made it. Hello Rabanal! We're so glad to see you.

Small town. Less than 100 population. Closer to the entrance we were greeted by a friendly man with a mullet who invited us to stay the night in the 6+ tents he had set up in his garden. It looked majestic. Complete with an awning, a hammock, and a cherry tree. We promised we'd be back, but we already had our hearts set on staying at the parish albergue. As we made our way up the hill, I stopped in a small store looking for hazelnut butter. None. It's all I wanted in life at that moment.

We made our way to the top of the hill and into the albergue. Two British gals greeted us with, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! There are still plenty of beds to go around. So take as seat and have a rest." Not exactly a warm welcome, but a rest sounds nice I guess. I still had a hankering for some hazelnut butter. I abandoned Betsy and jet back down the hill to another store. They had single serving hazelnut butter. Perfect. A bag of gummy strawberries sounded good, too. And to drink... coke or tropical juice? I took the coke out of the fridge and returned it twice. I eyeballed the tropical juice. Sizing it up. Imagining the taste. Which would refresh me more after a hot walk like today? Coke wins. Every time coke wins. If I were more of a beer fan, that could've won, too, but alas... I'm a beer snob. I devoured the hazelnut butter on my way back to the albergue. I shared my strawbery gummies and coke with the others. We were settled into our room. This one has 8 bunks/16 beds in one room. Not too bad. Someone is puff snoring, like my Pa does, as type this on my bunk at 10:30 at night. 

Anyway, settled. Rather than start our routine right away, we chilled in the library where Chris found a guitar. He and I took turns fiddling around. One of the British hospitaleras came in and said, "I'll be back with a bucket of cold water to throw over then two uh'ya." I wish I knew what that was supposed to mean, but British humor is over my head and around my ears. A few minutes later, another hospitalero slammed the door shut. I guess they don't like our singing here, we insinuated to one another with our snickering.

Our next venture was made into the kitchen. The fridge precisely. The hospitaleros had an anniversary party of the albergue the night before and gave us permission to eat any left-overs in the fridge. There were two big salad bowls of strawberries and cream dessert. We each had some. A full bowl. Maybe two. Fine, we had three full bowls each, okay? No regrets though. Okay, maybe a few. Maybe a tummy ache. But worth it. 

Lainey and I were waiting for one of the two showers to be unoccupied. While we waited the Catholic bishop of the area came by for tea with the Brittish gals. Which actually ended up being coffee, because what the bishop wants, the bishop gets. He was a portly fellow. We eavesdropped on their tea(coffee)time chat. Whilst waiting and listening, we both fell asleep on the wooden balcony benches. I awoke to a freshly showered Chris sitting at Lainey and my feet, French Grandpa pointing to my butt and saying something I wouldn't even be able to guess in French, and then walking away. I'm a little crabby when I wake up. Not a fan.

Lainey and I both showered. I used my new peach shampoo I'd bought in Astorga. It smells amazing. This will

Be my regular shampoo for Madrid. After we showered, we did laundry, and then it was "tea time at half past four" both the British gals would alert the pilgrims.

Oh, and Dennis arrived! While in the shower, Lainey was telling me he made the extra 15+ kilometers to reach us. As I was walking to hang laundry he greeted me by my actual name, rather than Lisa. Haha

We chat for a few minutes. He's starting to get some heat rash, and I'm about out of the medicine, so I'll reuse my prescription to get us some to split tomorrow when the pharmacy is open.

We head over to join everyone for tea. A delicious tea. Maybe English? Lemon wedges, milk, sugar, and sweet raisin bread with fondant. It's quite lovely. Please go back and read that sentence in a British accent. 

At tea time I get to chat with a kind man from Denmark and a gorgeous gal named Kelly from Santa Cruz, CA. It's the best meeting other CA people along The Way.

I sneak up to blog on my bed for a bit. It's a little noisy in the room, so I transfer myself to a bathroom stall where it's dark and quiet and I can just sit and catch up on blogging. So... Hiding in the

bathroom to recharge again, I guess. 

I reemerge after and hour probably. None of my buds are in sight, other than Dennis who is engaged with some other pilgrims, so I head down the little town street. Maybe they went back to the garden we saw at the beginning. They weren't there. There was, however, a very intimate face massage going on in the sunshine. I left to check one of the smaller churches. Nope. Wasn't even accessible to peruse around in as the gate only permitted a 7x18ft area past the curtain door to walk around in.

You see so many churches on this pilgrimage. Beautiful, all of them. But so many. I, personally, become desensitized to them. They don't feel as special any more. I guess that's how exposure works.

I only stayed in the church for less than a minute. When I brushed the massive, heavy curtains aside to leave I saw Chris and Lainey walking down the hill toward me. They had followed me, they said. We headed back to the garden together to hammock and chill. We awkwardly watched the girl getting the intimate face massage from the half-naked man as his hands moved down her face and across her brows to the rhythm of the yoga music. 

After about a half hour, we plucked a few cherries from the tree and headed back up the hill to the 12th century roman church where Vespers would be held by two Benedictine monks and two priests. The church was gorgeous. Very small, but  incredibly old and the patchy restoration spots made it all the better. The Vespers were chanted and sung in Latin. I tried to follow a program for part of it. It was neat for the first 10 or so minutes, but after an hour of sitting and listening to men chant and sing in a language I didn't understand, and not being able to see anything that was going on since I was in the very last pew, I was getting a little eager to go. I tried to relax my body and remind myself that the latin words they were chanting were in praise and adoration to my Heavenly Father. 

As we left the church, we were able to see the monks. One was South Korean, so all the Korean pilgrims flocked to him in awe and admiration. 

Chris, Julia, and I headed to the bar. Bartenders in Spain that I've encountered tend to be impatient. They want you drink order stat so they can move on to their next duty. We were asking questions, perusing the menu. 

He gives us a moment.

"Dime..." (Tell me) he grunts.

I order my rosado wine, Julia orders her red, and Chris points to a bottle of IPA. 

As he's getting our drinks, we see some clients leave a table with untouched appetizers and bread still on plates. 

"Are you going to just toss those?" I ask in hopes that they can be in my belly instead of the trash.

"No, these are pinchos," he curtly responds.

"Okay."

We grab our drinks and take them to our table. He grabs are attention and lifts a two plates full of pinchos...

"Are you guys hungry?"

Over the duration of our occupancy at the table, he graces us with another two more plates full of pinchos all on the house. I judged too soon.

I'm the first to pay for my glass of wine and leave. Only 1.49€. And I got free food. I tip him a €. You don't usually tip in Spain, so he showed appreciation of my gesture as I showed appreciation of his.

Back to the albergue. The hospitalero's made themselves a feast of salmon, roasted drumsticks, spring mix salad, and farro/lentil salad. I enjoy an plate full. It's a quarter to nine, so kitchen will close soon.  I consolidate the left-overs to put in the small fridge. 

The group of Koreans had made a big group meal for themselves. I help them dry their dishes, and Shesong, who studies in Texas, helps me wash mine. 

I stay with Chris and Lainey in the kitchen as they squeeze in a quick plate and I a cup of coffee.

Loved today.