Camino, postscript: Finisterre

After arriving in Santiago I spent two and a half days there and felt somewhat ill at ease. For many pilgrims Santiago is a peak experience but I felt aimless. I was done with my Camino. I was perfectly comfortable, and was really happy my hotel had good AC when it got up to 95 degrees. But I guess after 7 weeks of having a destination and purpose and knowing exactly what I wanted and needed to do, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I relaxed, wandered, walked the streets, explored interesting buildings, but I felt like I was killing time before heading home.

Then I decided to bus to Finisterre for a day. Some people walk the final 90K to Finisterre, and at this point I'm kind of sorry I didn't. My experience there far exceeded my expectations and it seemed like such a fitting end to the Camino, completing the journey from the French border to the Atlantic.

Finisterre is located on a narrow peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic. You can walk from one side of the peninsula to the other in about a half hour. The town itself is picturesque, a small port with brightly colored buildings and boats, a bunch of small shops and restaurants and dwellings. I was on the peninsula about 24 hours. On Friday afternoon I wandered the town and the countryside around it and serendipitously ran into a couple that I had met repeatedly over the last few weeks and had grown fond of and close to. I stayed in the same hotel as they did, in the hills overlooking the town. On Saturday morning I walked to the "end of the earth" and found out why it's called that. The town is at sea level and the path leads about 4 km straight uphill along the coast, rising higher and higher above the sea, until you reach the tip of the peninsula, way high above the ocean on all sides. It's spectacular, with vertiginous views. For part of the walk up I actually kept my hand on the guard rail because it was dizzying. At the very end it was overwhelmingly beautiful and I felt way more emotional than I had expected, I guess maybe what a lot of folks feel in Santiago. It did feel like the end of the earth.

Camino, day 43: Santiago

Being human, at some points in our lives we all face the abyss of the incomprehensiblity of the universe and our place in it. I've been afflicted with the habit of peeking at it probably way too often for my own good, but it's just who I am. I can pinpoint my first encounter. I was five years old and we had recently moved into our new house on Pilgrim Road in White Plains. I can remember it clearly, lying in the bathtub, the smell of the Ivory Soap floating in the water, the steam on the square blue ceramic tiles, even how white the grout and caulking were. And I started to think about the farthest reaches of the universe. And what comes after that? And what comes after THAT? And then I switched to time. What came before the universe? And before that? And what comes after the end? But there is no end! And so on and so forth. My first encounter with the ungraspable notion of infinity. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, and I can still feel that palpable sense of vertigo and wonder.

Over time this sense of not being able to understand the most fundamental concepts of existence became a central part of my world view. I tried talking to friends about it but soon realized it was not a topic a lot of kids liked to talk about. As a teenager and in my college days I thought if I could just read the right philosopher, or the right religious text, or really understand the concept of the theory of relativity, or really get high level math, that I'd find the key that would unlock the secrets. I read philosophy, I read Einstein, I read about Zen Buddhism, I looked further into Judaism, I read Nietszche instead of doing my homework, but no answers appeared. I learned meditation, dabbled in yoga, took psychedelics, read all sorts of literature, traveled to exotic countries. It made me who I am, but I got no closer to the answers. Religion seemed directed at people who were capable of believing in things without evidence, physics kept changing its approach every few years, philosophers seemed to be playing with words. For years I felt angst about not being able to find the answers I hoped for, but finally I accepted the fact that maybe we're just not equipped to get there.

I say all this as preface to the inevitable question as to what have I learned on this Camino. Of course I'll have to let it sink in over time before I know for sure. I didn't come looking for answers, I came to have the experience of walking across Spain and to drink in as much as I possibly could. I've done that and it's been wonderful. The one thing I can say I've learned for sure is that my feet can hurt in more ways and more places than I ever thought possible. Other than that, it has just reinforced what I've already thought: Embrace it all. Embrace the not knowing and the not being able to know, embrace the seedy entrances to cities as well as the great cathedrals, embrace life. Make and look at art, make and listen to music, read and write, love and be as good as I can to the people in my life.

I realize I risk sounding way too lofty here, but what the hell, I've just walked 500 miles and I've had way too much sun.

I'm here, I made it, Santiago looks like a beautiful city to explore, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do the next several days. I'm flying to Madrid on the 12th and back to Boston on the 14th. And of course after that my journey continues.

I'll keep posting my musings and photographs, but this brings to an end my Camino journal. I want to thank my friends and family for indulging my thoughts, and I especially want to thank all those who have made so many wonderful comments, given such great feedback, and "liked" so much stuff. It made me feel connected while being on such a solitary journey.

Camino, day 42: Arzua to Pedrouzo; Not your father's camino

As some of you know, when I was 20 I took a year off from university and spent most of it traveling. About 6 1/2 months of it was in Western, Central and South Asia--Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, and Nepal. When I arrived in Kathmandu in December 1973 it was a magical place at a magical moment. It was a little-traveled place until the mid 1960s when hippie-freak hardcore travelers started arriving, either coming overland from Europe along the silk route, or through Southeast Asia from Australia and New Zealand. Infrastructure was minimal. It took 19 hours to get a phone call through to the States; you applied at the central post office and when it was ready they sent a courier to notify you. Most of the roads were dirt, and there were something like three paved roads in the country outside of Kathmandu. There were no streetlights, few cars, and only one hotel to international standards. There were a handful of guest lodges and rooms available in private homes and the main gathering places were a bunch of pie shops on what was known as Freak Street. The Western travelers were an extraordinary bunch, with a disproportionate number of artists, writers, musicians and other creative folk. The reigning heroes were Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, Joni Mitchell, William Burroughs, John Lennon, and the like. It was a creative heaven.

When Terry and I went back in 1982, it had changed radically. Kathmandu was still a magical place, with its ancient temples, shrines, and palaces, warm friendly people, fantastic smells and sounds and sights everywhere. But roads were paved, streetlights lined the main thoroughfares, you could essentially direct dial an international call, and there was a huge range of hotel options, ranging from very basic to 5 star, replete with Olympic size swimming pool. Bus loads of Japanese tourists and their cameras crowded the streets. It had become a major tourist center, a stop on the Asian grand tour. When I tried to show Terry the home in which I had rented a room for 7 weeks, not only was the house gone, but the whole neighborhood had been razed and rebuilt. It was great for the local economy and I'm sure many if not most of the locals welcomed and embraced it. But that untouched quality of just a few years earlier was gone.

My friend Rich walked the Camino about 15 years ago and he recently mentioned that during his entire walk he encountered something like 6 Americans. That brought into high relief how extraordinarily different today's Camino is to how it was then. During my walk I've talked to many dozens of Americans, and overheard conversations of literally hundreds. Not to mention all the people from loads of countries around the world. The popularity of the Camino has skyrocketed and continues to do so. Each year thousands more people do it than the year before. Popular movies like "The Way" and books like Paolo Coelho's "The Pilgrimage" have brought the Camino into the popular mindset. The guy I walked with a while back who guides a spiritual Camino each year or two said that in Europe doing a portion of the Camino is seen as a great, cheap two week physical vacation. And for Spaniards, doing at least the final 100 km to get the certificate seems almost like a national sport.

Mostly I think it's a good thing. More people get to have this amazing experience and absorb Spanish culture. The infrastructure is growing by leaps and bounds, with new albergues, pensions, bars and restaurants opening all along the route. Even in the few years since I walked short portions of it in 2010 and 2011, I've seen a tremendous change. Here in Galicia, tons of buildings are being renovated, and I wouldn't be surprised if much of that is a result of money being pumped into the economy by pilgrims.

But it does change the nature of it. Especially in this last portion, the mood is different. Though sometimes you still have stretches of silence and solitude, more often than not the path is crowded and noisy. I've seen people throw trash on the ground. Garbage bins are overflowing. Huge crowds of kids go by--I actually stopped today and let a group of 65 high schoolers pass me, loudly chattering in a high-pitched mating-ritual cacophony. I'm trying to keep an open mind and open heart and see that it's all a positive thing, but honestly it can get a little trying at moments. But who am I to complain? Ultimately I'm just another schmo adding to the crowd.

Today's walk, from Arzua to the beginning of Pedrouzo, was a little under 12 miles. I know it's subjective, but the last couple of days have seemed like perhaps the least interesting of the entire Camino. Much of it has been in tree lined woods with limited views and past rather ordinary farms. Nice enough, but it could be pretty much anywhere. The stonework in the villages blows me away, but there have been very few truly distinctive buildings, and far fewer churches than previously. It actually surprises me that this is the part of the route that is so disproportionately traveled; there have been far more culturally interesting and physically beautiful sections.

That said, I'm down to the wire. One more 13 mile walk and I'll be in the center of Santiago. I'm excited to finish, but sad that it'll be over. I'm really pleased to be ending feeling as good as I do. I had some rough spots, but I'm feeling really strong right now and I'm looking forward to striding into town tomorrow.

Camino, day 41: Melide to Arzua. And I thought that truck-stop hotel was Feliini-esque?

About three weeks ago I wrote about a truck stop hotel in which I stayed in El Burgo Ranero, a few hundred yards off the Camino. With tractor-trailers lining the parking lot, and a jarring combination of truckers and pilgrims populating the dining room, it was a strange harmony to what I had been experiencing. But it was nothing compared to yesterday.

When I arrived in Melide in the early afternoon I was struck by how bustling it was. Was it a festival day? The ubiquitous octopus restaurants had lines out the door, the outdoor cafes were packed, locals and pilgrims were everywhere, loud recorded rock music was coming from a stage that appeared to be set up for a live band, motorcycles and cars jammed the roads, and unseen people were setting off really loud firecrackers in alleys and side streets. But the action hadn't really started. Turned out there was some sort of motorcycle festival/ convention/ exhibition, and by late afternoon it was really swinging. It reminded me of the low rider scene in the Mission District in San Francisco that we used to go see in the early 80s when we lived in the Bay Area. A sort of fetishistic display, with biker guys and biker chicks dressed up in futuristic-looking heavily-padded motorcycle outfits, with people wearing colors and styles representing clubs from all over Spain. They rode the bikes in a slow-motion parade, but the bikes were souped up so they could make these super loud high pitched engine noises. It was deafening; hard to tell what was louder, the over-amplified rock band, or the bikes. And to top it all off, there were high-heeled bikini-clad strippers caressing and humping the bikes while squeezing soap-filled sponges over their breasts. And they knew what they were doing. What made it completely Fellini-esque is that this all took place directly on the Camino route, so the whole time perplexed-looking pilgrims, dusty under their backpacks, were walking through the crowd. I thought it was a gas, and for the umpteenth millionth time I was reminded of what a messy, complicated, diverse real world we live in.

When I left town this morning, crews were cleaning up the trash left from yesterday's excesses, and in another part of town folks were setting up for what looked to be the Sunday morning farmers' market. Totally different scene.

Today's walk turned out to be 9 miles, again through some tree-canopied forests, open farmland, and small villages. There was a particularly nice old Roman bridge on the way into Ribadiso, the last village before the mostly modern looking town of Arzua, where I'm spending the night. With a population of 6000, it's the last significant population center before Santiago. Two days, 24 miles to go, and I'll be at the end of my journey.

Camino, day 40: Palas de Rei to Melide

Wow, I can't believe how close I'm getting. Though it feels like about two months, it was only 3 weeks ago that I was stuck in Sahagun with ripped up bloody feet, thinking that I had, at best, a 50-50 chance of going on. Now I'm feeling as strong as I've felt the whole trip; my feet, which have continued to be my weakest link all along, are keeping their complaints muffled; and I'm totally psyched. In fact I'm trying to savor every moment. I walked slowly today, and each time I crossed a bridge, or passed through a village, or stopped into a church, or climbed a gentle hill in the forest, I wondered how many more there'll be until the end. It's like the meal is coming to an end soon and I want to taste the flavor in every bite.

Today's walk was about 10 miles, again through forests, rolling hills, and a couple of villages whose stonework was mesmerizing. So much variation in style, sizes of stones, the amount of cement used to set them, the amount of space between them, the way the windows and doors are framed. Once again I was happy to see how many of them appeared to have been recently repaired. I stopped into a small, particularly beautiful 14th century church in the village of Lobreiro and was surprised to see frescoes, I assumed 16th century, that looked like they were of German or Northern influence. And when I got to the city of Melide, it was bustling. Rock music blaring in one of the main squares, the ubiquitous octopus restaurants overflowing, tons of pilgrims and locals filling the streets. And for some reason people are setting off fireworks--what a coincidence, on the 4th of July! My walk was prolonged a bit because I couldn't find my small, basic hotel, situated on a short, obscure, side street. I stopped into several bars, and the friendly and helpful owners enthusiastically pointed me in various directions, but three of them didn't have it quite right. So I ended up walking in circles for about a half hour. But I finally made it.

I'm going to head back out now because I need some food, then it'll be relaxation mode. Three more days, only 33 miles to go. I'm super excited to get to Santiago, but right now I'm sorry it's getting so close to being over.

Camino, day 39: Ventas de Naron to Palas de Rei

What an exhilarating morning! I left my albergue in the village of Ventas de Naron--actually more an outpost than a village--at around 7:30 this morning and it was socked in by dense fog. It was moody, evocative and beautiful, with grey wetness dripping off the cluster of moss-covered stone and slate buildings. Shortly after my departure the sun started burning off the fog, and as it broke through, a golden glow lit up the forest. Blue sky appeared overhead. And then I rounded a bend, the view opened up, and it was breathtaking. A stream of clouds was flowing through the valley, and another ridge across the valley became visible, lit up high above the clouds. Instead of appearing to float in a sea, as I've described before, this time it seemed as if the mountaintop was floating in the sky. It was difficult to catch on camera, looking directly into the sun. But I stopped in my tracks, as did three other walkers, and we watched as the clouds floated through, and then after about five minutes they were suddenly gone, and the opposite ridge was completely visible. An amazing ephemeral moment. The next group of walkers would have no idea what they had missed.

I had a really enjoyable wine-fueled dinner/evening last night with three charming and funny maniacs. There was a 20 year old guy from Copenhagen, a German woman living in Austria who had turned 24 the previous day, and a 38 year old guy from Finland, uncharacteristically dark-skinned because his mother was Sri Lankan. They've been traveling more or less together since the Pyrenees. Maniacs because they're on course to finish the Camino in 22 days, the fastest I've heard yet. That's more than 23 miles a day, every day, without fail. I think they might be from a different species than I am. We hit it off talking across tables and they invited me to join them. I asked them what they did at home and found out that after 20 days together they had no idea what each other did. I couldn't tell if their communications just happened to be about the Camino, logistics, where to stop, etc., or if they were consciously avoiding knowing what the others did in "real" life. The 20 year old was a business student, the 24 year old a graduate student in clinical psychology, and the 38 year old works promoting the Finnish semi-state-run casino system. It was a riot hearing them interact after finding out what each of them did. The psych student was playfully riding the biz student and both of them were all over the casino guy. They all said they were so tired they weren't really hungry, and they picked at their food but they had no problem downing the wine. They were going to get up at 4 this morning because they wanted to walk 30 miles today. Wow.

My comparatively dinky little walk of 8 miles was like a stroll in the garden. Not much uphill or down, easy, through forest and farms once again. I finished early and easily, even wanting more, and I'm now on the outskirts of Palas de Rei in a farmhouse-turned-pension. But it's good for me to do this series of short days. I feel good and strong and excited, and I'm raring to go. I have two more short days coming up, each about 8 miles or so, and then two final 12+ mile days into Santiago. Hard to believe I'm so close.

Camino, day 38: Portomarin to Ventas de Naron

Portomarin, the first significant town after Sarria in the heavily travelled 100 kilometer "certificate" segment, is clearly benefitting from the exploding popularity of the Camino. It's teeming with bars, restaurants, albergues, and pensions, it has lots of attractive and substantial homes with lovely gardens, and the central square, dominated by an imposing Romanesque church/fortress, is filled with pilgrims and tourists in the evening. After relaxing from my walk yesterday I had my typical "pilgrim's menu" dinner--salad, broiled chicken, fried potatoes, bread and the better part of a bottle of wine--seated at one of the open-air restaurants on the square, about 25 yards across from the massive stone fortress. For me, heaven!

When I made my way out of town this morning on the hilly streets and across two bridges it was chilly and damp. Clouds had settled overnight and the mist was thick. It was beautiful and perfect for walking. Though today's trek through the hills was only 8 miles, much of it was uphill so it was nice to not have to deal with heat and strong sun. The clouds slowly burned off over the few hours I was walking and as I write this I'm sitting on the patio of my albergue, drenching in strong low-humidity sun.

I got off to a late start today, 8:30, knowing that I had an abbreviated walk. Perhaps because of that the crowds were nothing like yesterday's. The path today led through forest and farms, and for a good hour I walked in total silence. As I went on, I saw more people but it never got oppressive. Now I'm in a tiny mountain village, Ventas de Naron, a handful of stone buildings with slate roofs. I'm looking at vegetable gardens and trees and the birds are singing and about 5 minutes ago a farmer guided about a dozen sheep up the driveway less than ten yards from where I'm sitting.

All across Spain there's a wealth of beautiful stone buildings. Many are in good shape and are occupied and kept up. But I've seen literally thousands of them in various states of disrepair, left to deteriorate. Some of them are too far gone, but many are not. Occasionally I see one being renovated and repurposed but I've been dismayed at how infrequently that's been the case. Today I was encouraged. I passed about 8 buildings with construction crews, shoring up walls, putting in steel supports, pouring concrete floors, repairing the stonework. I hope this is a trend. To me, putting a modern interior in one of these magnificent shells would be a dream project. I hope they end up being seen as a national treasure.

I'm down to my last 5 days and 50 miles. I'm getting really excited. I'm ready to be done, I don't want to be done, and I'm already feeling nostalgic about the experience once I will be done.

In the department of I might be losing my mind: I hear hundreds of roosters crowing every day, it's a ubiquitous sound. I never hear it as "cock-a-doodle-do", I never have. But at least half the time I would swear that they're screaming "BUEN CAMINO"! Seriously.

Camino, day 37: Sarria to Portomarin

I took a day off yesterday and it made me realize how tired I was. I went out for a 90 minute stroll around town and all I could think of was going back to my hotel and not moving. So I ended up spending most of the day luxuriating in my wonderful room, with a king size bed, multiple pillows, good AC, and a large shower with a strong flow of hot water. It was great.

It also gave me a chance to plan out the homestretch. I decided, with 72 miles to go, to do it over 7 days, not push myself. I arranged rooms all the way into Santiago, where, if all goes as planned, I'll arrive on July 7th. I know I shouldn't count my chickens and all that, but it's really seeming like I'm going to make it. After that I might take a bus to Finisterre, stay there overnight and return to Santiago before flying to Madrid on the 12th. I'm flying back to the States on the 14th, so that'll give me a day and a half in Madrid. One more chance to visit the Prado.

The Camino has changed dramatically and suddenly, just like the guidebooks and buzz have warned. To get the certificate at Santiago you have to walk the last 100K and loads of people start in Sarria, which is the closest town to the 100K. For the first time today the path was crowded for the whole walk. There were very few moments when there weren't tons of people ahead of me and behind me. And noisy. Large groups of high school kids, extended families, tour groups (I took a group photo of a bus load of about 50 Irish folks just starting out in Sarria at about 6:30 AM), as well as lots of individuals. I found myself alternatively thinking it was a good thing and trying to accept that it will be different for this last phase, and irritated that I will no longer have the silent reverie that I've so cherished.

Partly because of that I ended up walking for a couple of hours with an interesting couple, or non couple. I was trying to figure out their relationship. Both very attractive and interesting 40-somethings, they had walked together, at a very fast pace, all the way from the Pyrenees. She was an antiques dealer from Woodstock, NY, he a family therapist from Germany who is just finishing a year sabbatical from work, during which he has spent 3 months in India and Nepal studying and trekking, 5 months in Iran studying Farsi, and is now completing his second Camino, 12 months apart. They seemed like old marrieds, playfully bickering, pointing out character traits and flaws in their nearly perfect bodies, really at ease with each other. I asked them at one point, so are you a couple? And they both said, kinda, sorta. I joked that they had been together long enough to already start thinking about a divorce, and it hit a nerve, in a good way I think--they both started cracking up and they got a great kick out of it, even repeating the joke several times as we walked. But it turned out they've been staying in municipal albergues and churches the whole time, so the relationship must be non-sexual. Interesting. They'll always have the Camino.

The walk today, about 14 miles, was mostly through tiny villages, which were really just clusters of small working farms. Very few public buildings, and unlike most of the route, almost no churches. Vegetables, some corn, mostly dairy. Tons of cow shit, again occasionally incredibly pungent. The entry into Portomarin was dramatic. You walk across a very long low stone bridge over the Mino River and, at the end of the bridge, up a very steep flight of stone stairs thorough the gate into the city. I was really beat by the time I arrived and all I wanted to do was get to my pension as quickly as possible so, aside from it being hilly, my impressions of the town are very vague. Once I gather my energy I'll go out, have a look around, and find some dinner. I'm going to break the next stage into two days, so they should be easy, only 8 miles per day. Looking forward to not having to push too hard.

Camino, day 36: Triacastela to Sarria

Another lovely walk today, though different in character. Omg I love the early summer mornings here in the mountains. It takes a while between the time the sun rises and when it's high enough in the sky to get over the peaks, and during that time the light is diffuse and everything glows in pale pastel shades, so subtly beautiful. And the air is cool and delicious. Later the sun can become strong and hard and the air baked with dust, but those early morning hours are exquisite.

Leaving Triacastela there was much more of an ascent than I had anticipated, so the blood got pumping right away. Visually the effect was similar to yesterday; again I was above the clouds that had settled in the valleys, looking down at peaks that looked like islands in a sea of greyish white. Yesterday I watched the clouds burn off but today was different. After reaching the highest point, a 4000 foot peak, I descended directly into those clouds. As I walked, the sun shone off the clouds and within the clouds and lit the landscape in a strange light, and gradually I was enveloped by mist and fog. Instead of the grand vistas of yesterday, the landscape was enclosed, immediate, intimate, grey. Sometimes visibility was reduced to just a few yards, and at times I was surprised at how close some cowbells were clanking.

I walked though several tiny mountain villages with small farms that seemed from a different era. Dogs lazed in the road, barely taking notice of me, cows grazed, roosters crowed. The smell of cow shit was as pungent as I have ever experienced, overwhelming at times. And the farmers went about their business, for the most part not acknowledging the passing pilgrims.

On a particularly steep and difficult downhill trail in the woods thick with exposed roots, I passed an older man on crutches. Both of his knees were thickly bandaged and he was moving excruciatingly slowly. Wow.

20K later I arrived in Sarria and I'm camped in a really nice hotel room. I've been going strong and have felt good, but I'm feeling a bit depleted. Since Astorga I've walked 8 days in a row, averaging about 20K per day. Compared to some people doing the Camino that's a stroll in the park, but for me it's an effort. I'm tired, my muscles are a bit sore, and my feet hurt. So I'm going to take a rest day tomorrow and recharge my batteries. I'll probably explore the city a bit and, knowing me, I'll probably take pictures, but I'll most likely skip my writing tomorrow-- I'm feeling a bit depleted in that department at the moment as well. I've committed to a 25K day on Wednesday, so it'll all start over again then.

Camino, day 35: O'Cebreiro to Triacastela

My father, when we'd go out for pizza or Chinese food, or when Terry would make her signature walnut pie, would regularly say in complete seriousness, "This is the best I've ever tasted!" His enthusiasm trumped objectivity. It was one of his most endearing traits and is one of my fondest memories of him. Well, at the risk of similarly losing whatever credibility regarding objectivity I have left after too many superlatives, today just might have been the most beautiful day of the Camino.

The spectacular views started when I walked out the door at 6:30 AM and continued all the way into Triacastela. The village of O'Cebreiro, essentially a small cluster of stone buildings, some with slate roofs and some with complex thatching, and with the oldest extant church on the pilgrimage route (9th century), is perched high on a mountaintop with grand views of the surrounding valleys. Clouds had rolled into the valleys overnight, leaving the peaks visible and the subtle early morning light made it seem like they were islands floating in the sea. As I walked, the sun rose above the mountains and bathed everything in a golden light. Eventually the clouds burned off and the sun created stark and long shadows. For most of the day I took the little-travelled winding mountain road instead of the path because I've learned that's the best way to save my feet. It made the walk 15 miles long instead of 13, but a byproduct of it was that I had unobstructed views almost the entire day. I would be in awe of the view of one valley, walk another mile or so, round a curve, and an entirely different wonderful view would appear.

I've been so lucky with the weather recently. Constant sun. A couple of days have been somewhat humid, which I don't like, and a couple days quite hot, but that doesn't bother me much, though a lot of other folks complain. But today was like many of the previous days, cool in the morning and dry and sunny as the day wore on. Perfect for walking.

The scene in O'Cebreiro may not bode well for what I'm going to run into soon. It was packed with both pilgrims and tourists and all of the available rooms were taken. Luckily I had reserved one beforehand, as I try to do most days. Everyone's talking about how crowded the pilgrimage gets towards the end. Apparently in order to get a certificate saying you've done the Camino you have to have your pilgrim passport stamped for the last 120 km. Personally I don't really care much about a certificate, but to many folks it's very important. Curiously, a Spanish man with whom I was talking said that it's an important thing for young people to put on their resumes! Apparently employers look favorably on people who have done the Camino. At first it sounded far-fetched to me, but he spoke authoritatively. Tomorrow I'll walk to Sarria, supposedly where the crowds start getting bad. We'll see. Meanwhile I've showered, my wash is on the line, and it's time to be horizontal and rest these muscles for a while.

Camino, day 34: Trabadelo to O'Cebreiro; crazy laughter

Graffiti has been ubiquitous since I left Roncesvalles, on walls, underpasses, in tunnels, on signposts, guard rails, telephone poles, in cities and in the country, anywhere there's a surface. There have been scrawled drawings, political statements, new age loftinesses, messages from one pilgrim to another about where they'll meet, but above all there have been encouragements. "You can do it", "Overcome your pain", "Effort leads to wisdom", "Open your heart", "Don't ever stop", the ever present "Buen Camino", and one particularly memorable one from a few weeks ago, "There are two mistakes you can make on the Camino: Not finishing it and never starting it". So I was stopped in my tracks late this morning when, during a moment of particular self-doubt while going straight uphill, I saw written in very small letters on a sign, "Just Give Up". I started cracking up and realized if someone saw me at that moment, standing alone on a mountain path laughing a little hysterically, soaked through with sweat, with the flaps of my sun hat waving, they would have thought I was nuts.

And maybe I am just a little nuts at the moment. I was thinking about my post the other day about being in a bliss state and I realize I got it wrong. I think it would be more accurate to say I'm in an altered state. Endorphin generated bliss is part of it, but it's more complicated, with positives and negatives. I travel with happiness, self-doubt, wonderment, perseverance, questioning, picture composing, and endless musings. 

It's almost like I'm in the middle of a dream and only when it's over and I'm home will I wake up and be able to make any sense of it. Many days I can't remember what town I stayed in last night, or the night before, and certainly not the night before that. In fact it's starting to seem like one big psychedelic blur, with snippets of impressions of places and landscapes and cities and people I've met along the way, and hostels and albergues and hotels in which I've stayed. I'm glad I'm at least keeping this journal so when it's all over I might be able to piece it back together again.

I miscalculated the walk slightly today and it was a little longer than I thought, 12 miles altogether, with about a 3000 foot climb. It was challenging, but I came through ok. I left early, on the path at 6:30 AM, which was great. The air was cool and welcoming and the first few miles, with just a gradual uphill slope on local little-travelled roads, floated by. I stopped for breakfast in a totally unCamino truck stop where the road crossed a highway for a greasy plate of fried eggs, bacon, potatoes and café con leche and it hit the spot. Then a few more miles of easy slope on a road before the 4.5 mile very steep vertical, this on dirt and gravel paths. But I paced myself, stopped at all three bars along the way for cold water, was repeatedly thrilled by the views, and finally arrived in O'Cebreiro, a small, beautiful mountain town, situated at about 5000 feet above sea level, that judging by its upkeep seems quite well off. Perhaps too well off in fact. The bar where I checked in was so busy that I couldn't get anyone's attention, and when I finally did they were unfriendly, almost rude. Not just to me, it seems like it's the character of the place.

I'm a little worse off for wear today, my muscles a little more stiff and sore than they've been. But that's to be expected after today's walk. I've got the whole afternoon and evening to stretch out and relax before I get up and do it all over again. Oh, and I reached a major milestone today: less than a hundred miles to go.

Camino, day 33: Cacabelos to Trabadelo

When was I talking about being in a bliss state? Just yesterday?

I was late getting out this morning and got off to a shaky start. Despite getting an unusually good night's sleep, and my usual two cafe con leches along with a basic breakfast of toast and cheese, I was decidedly dragging energy-wise. Partly it was already pretty hot and humid when I hit the road at 8:40, but partly I was just feeling lethargic. And then within a few hundred yards my right foot started to cramp up and despite massaging it, rearranging my sock and shoe, doing stretches, etc., it kept happening. I figured I'd be able to walk it out, and eventually I did, but it was a rough couple of hours before it resolved itself.

So my "strong healthy vigorous successful" and my reverie kept getting knocked aside by "why am I doing this again"? I kept reminding myself of the reasons, but I was already quite aware of them thank you. Despite the landscape being quite beautiful, concentrating on it wasn't working so I tried to let my mind wander. And for part of the way I thought about my parents, both of whom passed away about 10 years ago.

My father would have been able to relate to my doing this. He understood the allure of the exotic. Many of his most passionate recollections were of the years he spent in the service during World War II, when, as a recent graduate of NYU architecture school, he was stationed in various locations in the Caribbean and northern South America. He designed and built airbases in Trinidad, Haiti, French Guiana, and elsewhere, and he explored, took photographs, and drew and painted. And he was always interested in my travels. We had these little rituals. I went on a couple of hundred trips for business when he was still alive, and when I'd call to say goodbye, he'd say the same thing every time: "Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think." And when I'd return he'd always ask, "So, did you have a good time?" He'd also ask "How'd you find the kids?", meaning had they changed much in the week or two weeks I was gone. I'd always say, oh it was easy, I just looked in their bedrooms, and he'd never fail to laugh in his inimitable way.

My mother, on the other hand, would have thought I'm a little crazy. I can practically hear her say, "Sure, if someone was meshuggina enough to go on a pilgrimage 700 years ago, they would have HAD to have walked. But now we have cars and trains and planes. You want to go backwards?" And unlike my father, when I'd call to say goodbye, she'd say, "I wish you were home already." And when I'd return, "Thank God you're home." Not how was the trip, but just that she was glad I had returned safe and sound.

The 12 mile walk today, despite my difficulties, was quite lovely when I let myself enjoy it. Two distinctly different stretches. The part between Cacabelos and Villafranca del Bierzo wound primarily through lush vineyards. Being wine ignorant I didn't realize that Bierzo is a renowned wine region. I read that it's due to a microclimate that's perfect for growing grapes. The town of Villafranca was bustling and lovely, with a small but beautiful public garden, and both the entry and exit were abrupt. Then after Villafranca I was immediately back in the mountains, with a steady rise into Trabadelo, with one tiny village in the interim. The route was next to a little used road, but also cross-crossed a major super highway, and several times I passed under some colossal overpasses.

Tomorrow's walk is a bit intimidating, the biggest ascent of the route I've been told, something like 900 meters, most of it in the second half of a 10+ mile hike. I'm hoping to get off to an early start so I won't be doing the worst of the climb in the hottest part of the day.

Camino, day 32: Ponferrada to Cacabelos

This morning I was walking behind a very tall super fit blond haired guy, with particularly impressive leg muscles, for several hundred yards. When I finally caught up to him and he turned his head to say hello, I was momentarily stunned by how open and friendly and glowing his face was. He immediately engaged me in conversation and right away I was struck by his genuine warmth.

His story was right out of the Jimmy Stewart character in It's a Wonderful Life. As a teenager growing up in Holland he dreamed of travel. He read accounts of voyagers in the ancient world and wanted to roam the earth. He spoke of the lure of leaving home and not knowing for sure if he would ever come back. He bought a backpack at 16 and was ready to take off. And then one of his parents died and he had to stay home. And then he went to university and met his wife and they soon had kids. The realities of work and supporting a family took over and he never got his travel adventure. He heard about the Camino 20 years ago and realized he just couldn't do it. He and his family took some walking vacations, but nothing big. Then 5 years ago at the age of 55 he lost his job and went through a personal crisis. As part of the firing process he was assigned a life coach who asked him what dreams he had that were unfulfilled. It was then that he decided that he would walk the Camino when he turned 60.

So in March he and his wife walked out of their home in Eindhoven and have been going ever since. 2500 kilometers across The Netherlands, Belgium, France, and now almost all of Spain. I'm humbled and in awe. His wife has had some difficulties with her back so she sends her pack ahead each day, but he has carried his pack the whole way and hasn't missed a step. His goal is to walk to Finisterre, the end of the continent, and I have no doubt that he will. We walked for about a hour together but then he had to stop at a bar and wait for his wife who was trailing behind and I wanted to keep moving, so we said our goodbyes, but I hope to meet up with him again. An amazing guy, maybe the friendliest and warmest hearted person I've met yet on this adventure.

I loved today's walk again. It was easy, only a little more than 10 miles, and predominantly flat and on smooth surfaces. Ponferrada was a lovely surprise, with a castle that must be the model for all the cartoon and Disney castles in our imaginations, as well as a host of other impressive buildings. The exit from the city was long but pleasant, much of it on tree lined sidewalks. Lots of large apartment blocks, including quite a number of 1960s brutalist examples that reminded me of some state universities back home. Then through several towns--Compostilla, Columbrianos, Fuentes Nuevas, and Camponaraya--with lots of fields of vegetables and vineyards in between, and with more people working in the fields than I've seen to date, before I arrived in Cacabelos, where I'm spending the night.

I realized while walking today that the past week or so, with the exception of the 3 hours of fly torture, I've been in a sort of bliss state. The weather is great, a hot sun but dry, my body is moving in a steady comfortable rhythm, my feet issues while not solved are at least at an equilibrium, and it just feels so natural to keep moving. Not that I don't get tired by the end of the walk or that my feet don't ache, but I just feel so good. It's almost like a mild mania. Terry, you remember how I was sort of manic when we trekked in Nepal in 1982, just so happy to be there and doing it? Kind of like that.

Camino, day 31: El Acebo to Ponferrada

Three snapshots of people at the dinner table last night:

Desiree. I first met her in the afternoon on the grounds of our resort-like albergue when she saw me looking for a place to hang my wet clothes and told me where the lines were. She's a Montreal native who's lived in Tucson, AZ for the past 25 years. Willowy with long grey hair, wearing a flowing hippieish skirt and dancing shoes. I took her to be in her late 60s, and she was in bad shape, literally inching herself along with the aid of two walking sticks. Her knees had given out during the descent into El Acebo and her Camino was over, at least the walking part. I said how sorry I was and she said she was actually doing much better; after she arrived she couldn't walk at all, now at least she could move. She'd been in the albergue for three days and was planning to stay several more before taking a bus to Santiago and Finisterre. She was a classic new-agey type, warm, loving, and a bit holier-than-thou. At dinner several of us had been to India and I mentioned of the places I'd been India was the most difficult for me because people can be so in your face. She said something about using her body's force field, sending out energy, and people would leave her be. She also said something about going to small villages and interacting with indigenous people. I asked how she communicated, did she have the language, and she said no she communicated with her body and its energy. Despite my built in skepticism and her vagueness--when I asked what she had done for a living she said oh lots of things--for some reason I couldn't help but like her. When she saw me leaving this morning she came over and we hugged goodbye.

Dirk. A 40-something guy from Düsseldorf with a sense of humor and a need for rules. He's had a rough time with his feet and it hasn't let up. In fact he was staying for a few days to let himself heal as well. Without my mentioning the attitude I described the other day, he launched into a routine: "I just don't understand these people whose feet don't hurt. They say oh I only did 40 km today so I'll have to do 60 km tomorrow. Don't they realize we don't want to hear that?" We all cracked up. But he had this rigid sense of rules. When I said I'm interested in taking photographs, he said oh that's not the real Camino. And when I said I took the road instead of the path part of the way yesterday he said that's not the real Camino either. Ok, I didn't argue.

Dave. I first saw him in the afternoon as well, and, wearing only a pair of shorts, he made quite a visual impression. He was covered in tattoos, as well as scars. Not the Japanese style total body tattoo that's an overall design with all parts working together. His was more like 50 different tattoos taking up most of the space on his body, sort of like a punk graffiti billboard. At dinner he was wearing a t-shirt about walking the Camino for Nepal. Turned out he had been in Nepal during the earthquake, had seen destruction and death, and was now walking for a charity organization that gets people to pledge money for walkers. He grew up in a rural town outside Edmonton, Alberta, and now is constantly traveling. I figured he was my age, or maybe older, but he turned out to be 52 with three grandchildren, one 16 years old. Different world. He talked about skydiving, about having done the Camino before on crutches, about his mother dying, about his own severe injuries, about wanting to walk across Mongolia and Tibet into Nepal, and about how you have to do extreme things because life is short. I was intrigued and couldn't quite figure it all out. Being the ever ready contrarian I brought up the poem I wrote about a while back, the one that posits that if you look closely enough at a stone fence you'd see the universe. He said if he sat around looking at walls he'd go crazy. Desiree of course said something about, oh yes, some yogis say you should do the same pose for several hours a day.

I saw him again at breakfast, and alone with him I wondered how he can afford all his adventures, did he happen to own some land sitting on an oil deposit or something? The answer was shocking and sad. He gets a small disability pension because he had worked with horses and one day one of his charges reared and kicked him, smashing his pelvis and leg, and now he has pins and screws all through his body. He had lived in a small apartment with his mother, subsidized by the province for seniors. Then his mother died and since he wasn't old enough to qualify for the apartment himself they kicked him out the day of the funeral. So he's homeless. He visits his daughters for a while, his brother from whom he had been estranged just invited him to stay for a while, but otherwise he just keeps traveling on the cheap. Amazing what stories there are out there.

Today's walk from El Acebo to Ponferrada was superb. The first 7 miles were through the mountains, and despite Dirk's proclamation I walked on the winding narrow two-lane road instead of the path, even though it was longer. It felt like an American national park. The views were again magnificent, with precipitous drops, and I could hear the sound of rushing water hundreds of feet below. Then coming out of the mountains I crossed a medieval stone bridge into the town of Molinaseca, with shops lining the main, narrow cobblestone street running through it. Exiting the town was a bit more mundane, with a long gradual climb through a suburban stretch, through some dusty fields and then through the town of Campo before reaching the outskirts of Ponferrada. At first glance it looks like a prosperous metropolis with huge apartment blocks and some heavy industry. But what a surprise when you arrive in the old city. Beautiful, with a giant castle, imposing churches, and some beautiful plazas. I'm staying in the middle of the old city and once I do some serious relaxing I'm going to try to get up the energy to explore.

Camino, day 30: Rabanal del Camino to El Acebo; FLIES!

What coulda/shoulda been a glorious hike in the mountains for much of the day wasn't, though by the end it was redeemed. The path from the outskirts of Rabanal del Camino, where I spent last night, to El Acebo, was about 11 miles, with an ascent of about 2000 feet, and a descent of a little less than that, the descent being much harder on the legs and feet. The path led partly through terrain rife with flowering bushes, partly under the canopy of trees, and partly along the sides of hills with spectacular views, and I crossed two peaks, the higher of the two around 4700 feet. It went through the hilly town of Rabanal which houses a bunch of stone albergues and restaurants and a nice old church, and through two other tiny mountain villages with most of their buildings in advanced states of disrepair, except for some funky albergues and bars, before arriving in the thriving and well-manicured town of El Acebo with its beautiful stone buildings.

Though the temps were moderate the day was very humid and I was pouring sweat by the end of the first kilometer. But I could deal with that. And much of the path was a difficult combo of uneven earth and loose rocks, which was treacherous. But I made my way carefully and slowly and finally ended up walking on the narrow, winding road that was roughly parallel to the path; it was a little longer but easier on the feet. But what made much of the day torturous were FLIES! For about 7 miles they swarmed relentlessly and aggressively, constantly in my face and swirling around my head. I have no idea if they had all hatched recently or if this could possibly be normal. Forget about stopping to take photos or to take a drink--it would only get worse. It was crazy-making. At one point I passed a herd of cows with their ears all twitching and their tails swinging and I wondered if they took it in stride or if it drove them crazy as well.

An indelible image for me: Until I overtook and passed her, for several hundred yards I walked behind a woman who was swinging her walking stick in a constant circle around her head, like a baton-twirling cheerleader, attempting to shoe them away. It was like some sort of strange dance.

And then, after the second peak, a strong cool breeze started up and they were abruptly gone. What a relief! I could finally enjoy the hike. And this part was particularly spectacular. I was on the road by now, and the views were vertiginous, dramatic, and ever-changing. I was reminded of Japanese brush paintings. Huge misty clouds would move by in the foreground, peaks that were exposed would become enshrouded, and the sky would go from grey to bright and back to grey. All with great vistas surrounding me.

I'm so glad the flies were at the beginning and not at the end. I was left with this sense of joy that the Camino was taking me through another entirely different environment. All of a sudden I'm in the middle of the mountains, and more dramatic than those at the start. Cathedral cities, medieval villages, long walks through vineyards and blissful wheat fields, and now once again mountains. What more could one ask for?

But the best part of the day was just past the second peak, when I passed an enterprising young couple peddling cherries on the side of the path. He handed me one to taste and she was waiting with a newspaper cone full for a euro. They may have been the sweetest, juiciest, most delicious cherries I ever tasted.

Camino, day 29: Astorga to Rabanal del Camino

When Terry sent me a draft of her lovely and subtle reverie about her father she asked if I thought she should post it on Facebook. Although she talked about love and affection, she also mentioned sadness and job difficulties and drinking and smoking and death, so she thought it might be too personal and too revealing, particularly on a day when most posts talk about the greatest father in the universe. I suggested she go for it. For one, when you turn 60 you're allowed to be yourself and say what you want. But also, my experience posting on FB has been so heartening recently. In this day and age of 140 characters, bumper sticker posts, and personalities boiled down to quotes, I wondered what the reaction might be to my posting long rambling muses about my experiences and referring to my weaknesses and vulnerabilities as well as my happiness. And though I figure some friends of mine might feel I'm being too revealing, I've gotten an awful lot of positive feedback. In fact it's totally exceeded my expectations. It makes me think that, at least with our self-selected group of friends, there's a hunger for the personal, for complexity, for the revealing.

And Terry's post has gotten all sorts of positive reaction. That makes me so happy. Maybe the new subversive is being open and personal and vulnerable?

In recent days I've met a few people whose vibe was less than great. One guy, to whom I said I had walked 15K and my feet hurt, told me oh he had done an easy day, only 30K but was going to make up for it by walking more the next day. Ok, how quickly can I escape this conversation? Another guy was walking with his son, who had been violently ill the previous night and yet they were still walking 30K even though the son looked like hell; in the context of talking about his son's illness he told me a truly foul anti-Obama joke, and I was disgusted.

So as if by magic I ran into and walked with a wonderful guy today. What a turnaround. A South African who lives in Sao Paolo but travels the world. He went to Brazil to study shamanistic practices, stayed and married a Brazilian woman, and became a therapist who works with breathing techniques, the psychedelic drug ayahuasca, and psychotherapy. He uses the drug ritually himself and says he has successfully used it to cure ills in others ranging from depression to drug addiction. He holds seminars around the world, and in fact just held one in Boston recently. (I googled him and he does seem to be the real deal). And this is his eleventh Camino! He leads a group of 10 or so people every year or two and they do meditative and breathing exercises as well as walk an average of 12 miles per day. We had a rambling conversation, discussing everything from man's yearning for transcendence to torture instruments during the Inquisition to our mutual love of Rome. He was knowledgable, thoughtful and undogmatic. He totally won me over when he said every time he visits Rome he's brought to tears.

The walk today from Astorga to Rabanal del Camino was about 13 miles, with about a 750 foot climb altogether, and it seemed easy. The terrain is changing, more bushes, more trees, mostly pines, less agriculture. Tomorrow is a steep climb into the mountains. I'm planning on doing about half a stage and staying in a mountaintop village. Hopefully the weather will hold, though apparently it changes very quickly in this neck of the woods. In fact I hung out my freshly washed daily set of clothes about a half hour ago in the clear sun and now it's clouded over. Onward and upward!

Camino, day off: Astorga

Just back from exploring Astorga, or at least the older part of town within the city walls. The city dates from Roman times, with preserved remains of the forum, and sits high on a cliff overlooking the plains, ideal for defense. There's a park that runs partway along the wall with lovely views of geometric rooftops and cultivated plots below as well as the surrounding countryside. The town squares are bustling, mostly with pilgrims and tourists. It seems that the Camino has been very good for the local economy.

I visited the palace designed by Gaudi, and while it was good to experience it and put it in the context of his Barcelona works, it's much more restrained, more tied to tradition. Yes, there's whimsy and some hints of what's to come, but not the inspired, impassioned explosion of form that makes him such a towering figure. It's relatively early, but apparently he had already begun to work on Parc Guell, so maybe there were parameters of what he could and couldn't do. It now serves as a museum of art related to the Camino and there were some fine examples of 16th century paintings and 17th century polychrome sculptures, as well as works from the ancient and medieval eras. The top floor housed paintings from the 20th century, which I frankly found mostly mediocre.

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But the cathedral was a delightful surprise. It's not on the grand scale of the great European cathedrals, and the exterior architecture was a strange melange of styles ranging from Gothic to Baroque, so I didn't have high expectations. But it's a jewel. Perhaps I visited at the best time of day--I entered at 11:15 AM--but the light was otherworldly. The sun through both stained and plain glass lit the interior columns with different hues and the whole place seemed aglow. And the sculptures were mind-boggling. I just looked it up and indeed Wikipedia says the 16th century large high altar by Gaspar Beccara is considered a masterwork of Spanish Renaissance sculpture. I was there for mass and the organ music added to the magic.

Today was another reminder of how blessed I feel to not have to race through the Camino, but to do it at my speed and to stop where I want and take the time to really look and explore. So many people do it so fast. I realize some of them are on tight schedules and have only a limited time off work. But there's something else at work with a lot of folks, almost a compulsion to race though and cover as much territory as fast as they possible can. I've met a number of people who think like I do, but we seem to be in the minority. In fact I keep running into this Swiss/German couple and we always joke about how slow we are. But, as I've said before, I think I'm missing the macho gene so winning the race isn't part of my equation, and I want to savor my meal rather than swallow it whole. I feel so lucky.

Camino, day 28: Hospital de Orbigo to Astorga

When I was planning this adventure I knew I wanted to respond to it photographically, but I also felt the desire to write. Though I had written detailed catalogue entries for my rare book business for many years--which is an interesting melding of high scholarship and advertising copy--I hadn't done any creative writing since I was a college kid, and I was itching to try. I latched onto the idea of talking to fellow walkers about the reasons they undertook the pilgrimage and taking photographic portraits of them. I thought if I got enough good material maybe it would turn into a book. It didn't turn out that way.

For one, when I started to ask folks why, most of the responses weren't very interesting, mostly predictable and trite. So when the fifth or sixth person said, almost verbatim, I wanted to find out what God had planned for me in my next phase of life, I saw it as a sign from God that I should give up the idea (haha!). And for two, unlike many folks who see this as an essentially social experience, it quickly became clear to me that I wanted my Camino to be more of a solitary one. Oh I've had some great and moving interactions, I don't shy away from talking to people, and I often share a meal, but ultimately I prefer to walk at my own pace, stop to take pictures as often as it strikes me, to let my mind wander where it will, to keep my own rhythm, and to try to stay in private rooms when I can so my chance of sleeping is greater. In the immortal words of Greta Garbo, I vant to be alone.

So I was struck a couple of evenings ago when I sat down to dinner with a couple of women who were staying in the same pension as I, and the first thing one of them asked was, why are you doing the Camino? I explained that it had been a dream of mine for decades to walk across a European country, that I loved art and architectural history, that I wanted to photograph and write, and that a constellation of people close to me, including my own daughter, had done it. Of course I asked her the same thing. When she said, I just turned 65, I've been working at the same job for 30 years, and I want to find out what God has planned for me for the next phase of my life, I stifled my internal groan.

But it got more interesting. Her job for those 30 years was running a food shelter for homeless people in Richmond, VA, so I immediately became more sympathetic. She said early on in her walk she had had a tough day climbing down the steep loose-stone trail into Zubiri, and by the time she got to her pension she could hardly move. She said she was too exhausted to eat dinner and had decided to stay in bed. But then God spoke to her and told her she should go down to dinner. Now I'm an agnostic--I find it just as much a leap of faith to be an atheist as it is to believe in God--but God telling you to eat dinner is way beyond my comprehension. Doesn't He have more important stuff to do, like telling ISIS folks to stop cutting people's heads off? Anyway she went down to dinner and sat at a table with two Cuban-Americans from Miami who do portions of the Camino each year. Turns out they were boat people who landed in Florida and have become very wealthy in the intervening years, the American Dream. By the end of the dinner they had written her a check for $150,000, half of what she needs to run the food shelter for the year. So next time God tells you to have dinner, eat!

Today's walk, 11 miles into Astorga, was not unlike yesterday's, relatively flat except for the approach to the city, near a highway most of the time, through farmland and country with wildflowers abounding. The weather has been exquisite, with hard-angled sun and cool lapis skies in the morning turning into lighter blue upper 70s low humidity skies by midday. I've now finished the stretch across the central plains and will soon be heading into the mountains. The next couple of stages are among the most difficult of the Camino, with steep climbs, and more precariously for me, steep declines. As soon as I entered Astorga though, I decided to stay here tomorrow. Looks beautiful, I'm in a great hotel, there's a Gaudi palace and a cathedral to visit, and a whole historic district to explore. And the great weather is supposed to continue.

Camino, day 27: Villadangos del Paramo to Hospital de Orbigo

When I'm at home and take a 7 mile hike I feel like I've done a really good day's exercise. Here it almost feels like cheating. But there's no way I was going to walk the 18 miles to Astorga. So it was a relatively easy day. Reminded me of those great early Beatles songs that were so short and catchy that they left you wanting more.

I was back in the country today after those long urban treks. It wasn't serene or meditative though; the path was still adjacent to a loud and busy two-lane highway almost the whole time. Trucks barreling by, and drivers in cars taking significant risks passing them. Sometimes the path was on the same level as the road, sometimes in a gully next to it, sometimes in the open sun, sometimes under a canopy of trees, sometimes through thick brush. Much of the time the path was right next to a series of irrigation ditches and the plant growth was very aggressive there. At one point I was surprised at how much the weeds intruded on the path. I would have thought that with the thousands of pilgrims making their way through, the growth would be beaten back. But I guess this time of year the growth is particularly vigorous. I had to be careful. There were aggressive thick stalks with large prickers and I was actually using my walking stick as a kind of bushwhacker for a few hundred yards.

And the frogs were thriving. I'm not sure I've ever heard them so loud. When we lived in Ridgefield, CT, we had a pond on our property and in the summer months the frogs created a cacophony at night, but these frogs were louder, at least individually. I was wondering if it might be high mating season and if those weren't plaintive cries.

For many days I've been seeing little chameleon-like lizards scurrying across the path. But today I was stopped in my tracks. A lizard about 18" long walked in front of me, and he didn't seem to be in any rush.

After weeks of vineyards and endless wheat, I finally saw some corn today. Much of it was early growth, a foot or two high, but some fields were as tall as three feet. In contrast, some of the weeds and wildflowers, particularly next to the irrigation ditches, were shoulder high or greater. The farm buildings, unlike in earlier days, were mostly modern and sleek, prefab steel and sheet metal structures that one sees throughout the American Midwest.

Now I'm in the small town of Hospital de Orbigo, after crossing one of the most beautiful stone footbridges of the Camino. Dating from the 13th century, elegantly proportioned and beautifully preserved, the bridge has 19 arches, three of them spanning the Rio Orbgio and the rest going over land. Once in town, after stopping at a friendly bar for water and directions, I came upon a bell tower (of the Ermita de Nuestra Señora de la Purification) with three giant storks nests, those architectural wonders I've been seeing in many towns. I'm now at my hotel, which is on a two-lane truck route highway near some dusty warehouses, a little less than 1K from the center of town. I'll be walking into town to explore and for dinner in a little while.

Camino, day 26: Leaving Leon

Unlike exiting Burgos, which takes you though a grandly scaled and heavily shaded urban park, through the university and past a well manicured suburb before abruptly entering the countryside, leaving Leon mirrors its entry, only for a longer stretch. Miles and miles of urban grit, evidence of a modern industrial economy. I left my hotel in a downtown business district, with stores, restaurants, and offices, went through the old part of the city with its historic buildings and quaint shops, and then through an endless array of apartment blocks, some clean and freshly painted, others seedy with eroding facades and mold crawling up the sides, past butcher shops, some with legs of pork hanging in the windows, others halal, bakeries, doctors offices, hardware stores, bars, and other local shopfronts. Then into more industrial areas, with metal working shops, truck repair shops, furniture factories, ceramic tile and building material distributors, stone yards, auto, truck, and farm machinery dealers, furniture showrooms. Then miles of small office parks, warehouses, empty lots, hotels, and parking lots, some of the buildings modern and made of sheet metal, steel and concrete, others older and made of brick and stucco, some in various states of decay, and some of the abandoned ones heavily vandalized. I passed through several towns, but it was more like a continuous one. All the while walking adjacent to a very busy highway, sometimes on a sidewalk (sometimes fresh and new, sometimes broken and decaying), sometimes on a gravel path nearby through the weeds, underbrush and ubiquitous wildflowers, and sometimes, precariously, on the shoulder of the highway with an endless stream of trucks, cars, and buses speeding by. It was anything but charming. But for some reason I was charmed.

For one I was in a good mood, the sun was shining, it wasn't too hot, my body was working well and my feet weren't screaming. And it just seemed so real. Of course I'd rather be walking through the impossibly beautiful medieval villages with their 13th century churches, but this speaks to me as well.

Then again I find a strange grandeur in the northern part of the New Jersey Turnpike, so maybe I'm nuts. But that relentless onslaught of bridges and oil refineries with their smokestacks with the fires at the top burning off excess gas has its own beauty. My father was a big influence on me here. In his early years he painted industrial landscapes, factories, bridges, cement works, and smokestacks, as well as urban scenes in The Bronx and Manhattan. He loved Charles Sheeler and Charles Demuth, as do I. It was a time when modern industry was seen as the way to usher in wealth and comfort to the masses, instead of as destroying the planet, which is how it's seen now; there was an optimism to it. I must have picked it up from him.

My walk today, starting outside of the old part of Leon, was supposed to be about 14 miles, but it ended up being closer to 15; I took a couple of wrong turns that cost me some distance. The markings leaving Leon are almost non-existent, and though people are very helpful it can be very easy to get off track. I'm pretty exhausted at the moment. The next stage, from Villadangos del Paramo, where I am now, to Astorga is about 18 miles so I'm going to break it two, 7 miles to Hospital de Orbigo tomorrow, and the 11 miles into Astorga the next. Meanwhile it's time to relax...