Camino, day off: Leon

I long ago gave up trying to understand my fellow humans and whenever I visit a major cathedral in Europe my baffled wonderment goes into overdrive. How can we produce such monumental beauty and kill each other century in and century out with no end in sight? How could the same people who commissioned and created this architecture, stained glass, sculpture, frescoes. and meticulous ornamentation have been responsible for the Inquisition and countless murders and an endlessly array of creative torture instruments? I will never get it.

Though not as overwhelming as the cathedral in Burgos with its endless maze of chapels, the cathedral in Leon, based on the more traditional cross floor plan, is impressive. The interior space is grand and and soaringly vertical. The stained glass, with its elaborate floral motifs, is beautiful, as are the carved wooden entry doors set into carved stone arches.

I was hoping to spend most of the day off my feet but I couldn't help walking for several hours through the old city, going to the outdoor market in the plaza mayor, and just rambling about looking for photo ops. It's now mid-afternoon, I just got back in a horizontal position, and even though I'd still like to roam I think I'm going to try to force myself to stay this way til dinner time.

Camino, day 25: entering Leon

I stopped into two bars for water today on my way from Mansilla to Leon and serendipitously heard two almost identical conversations. Both were English-speaking Spanish pilgrims speaking to North Americans comparing Leon to Burgos. One guy said oh Leon is a much better city, it's a place where real people live and work and Burgos is just a touristic city and is too proud, and the other guy said, oh Leon is a rough and tough city with not much beauty and Burgos is like a jewel. Hearing them back to back like that made me realize how often I've heard divergent opinions on the same walk, or town, or meal. Just like real life I guess.

Walking into Leon was gritty, not dissimilar to walking into Burgos. Miles and miles of the necessary decor of the outskirts of urban life: factories, warehouses, building supply stores, metalworking shops, auto dealerships, billboards, interchanges, power lines, abandoned buildings, empty lots. Then as I got into the city, apartment blocks and and bars and cafes and fruit shops and butcher shops and bakeries. I didn't get as far as the cathedral and plaza mayor yet; my hotel is about 1 km from the center. That's for tomorrow.

Some people hate this part of the walk. I get it, they're enamored of the serene countryside and the charming little villages. But as I said in a post a while back, I embrace this. I don't want to walk in a Disney set, I want to traverse a real country and see its blemishes as well as its glory. I actually love it.

I was in the zone for part of the day again today. Leaving Mansilla in the cool fresh sunny air felt great and I hit my stride. And felt that way for about eight miles. Then fatigue and aches and pains set in during the last three miles. But now I'm happily ensconced in a nice hotel, horizontal. Though I have the desire to explore the old part of the city and the cathedral, there's no way this body's gonna do it today. But I'm staying here tomorrow so I'll have a look around.

Passed a milestone today, less than 200 miles to go. According to the guidebook it's 193 miles to Santiago. I might just make it.

Camino, day 24: Burgo Ranero to Mansilla. Microcosmos

A few years ago an Italian bookseller colleague sent a Christmas greeting that included a poem, in both the original Italian and English translation, by a mid-century Italian poet whose name is lost to me. I no longer remember the name of the poem either, but it moved me; the gist of it was that if you walked along a stone fence and observed very closely, you would see the entire universe contained there. Some plants would be dominant and assertive, others would be struggling for a foothold, here would be a beautiful bloom, there a dead stalk, the ants, beetles, and spiders would be building their homes and searching for food, a bird would prey on the insects, and in the stone wall itself would be the endeavor of man. At least that's how I remember it.

That concept was wafting pleasantly through my thoughts today as I walked the nearly 13 mile stretch between my truck stop hotel outside of El Burgo Ranero and Mansilla de las Mulas. It didn't have the drama of the rolling hills of recent days or the majesty of the vistas I've had after climbing previous hills. One person I talked to referred to it as boring, flat and uneventful. But it was rich. The path was adjacent to a little travelled narrow two lane road and was lined, every 20 yards or so, with an endless row of neatly planted trees. The fields were varied, with young wheat, some vegetables, some lying fallow, some recently tilled, rich and brown, and everywhere were wildflowers, purple, yellow, red, some massing and some solitary. There were groves of trees planted in neat geometrical rows and I wondered why; wind barriers? The early morning sky was defined by the hard angled sun, later a more diffuse light, and as the day wore on it became dark gray and threatened rain; thankfully no more than a few random sprinkles appeared. The clouds were different on each horizon of the huge sky. Local trains passed nearby and the high speed trains could be seen in the far distance, silenced by the intervening winds. Power lines and irrigation devices created cool angularities. There were canals and rivulets teeming with reeds and more flowers. And lizards scurried about.

There was only one small town en route, Reliegos, where I had a terrific cheese omelette and my beloved cafe con leche in the "Bar Elvis". Incongruously, instrumental versions of early Beatles songs were booming through the speakers.

I don't want to jinx anything because I know how day-to-day this is, but I found my rhythm again today. No, not that James Brown rhythm that I've never had nor never will, but that steady body movement that felt so natural and so good and so in touch with my physical being that I just wanted to keep going. Of course by the end of 13 miles I'm completely exhausted and my feet don't want to move ever again, but it's on to Leon tomorrow!

Camino, day 23: Sahagun to El Burgo Ranero

On my way again, with self-doubt and Fellini...

When I was in the midst of that struggle with back pain some 30-odd years ago that I mentioned a few posts back, I tried all sorts of physical exercises, but I also tried a technique called, back then at least, creative visualization. I was skeptical and frankly it sounded kind of silly to me, but I thought hey what harm can it possibly do? So I chose four words--"strong, healthy, vigorous, successful"--and made it my mantra. As I repeated the words, usually as I walked, I tried to visualize my vertebrae, discs, and muscles in proper alignment. I got better and still remained skeptical as to whether this had much or anything to do with my recovery. But I never stopped using this as my mantra. As years passed I've visualized whatever needed fixing in my life and where I've wanted to be, both physical and metaphorical. In fact in recent years with the word "successful" I've pictured myself walking across the planet.

And that phrase has played a definite role in this walk. But like the proverbial meditator who has uninvited chatter invading his hoped-for empty mind, unwanted thoughts have a way of sneaking in. Today the volume of my internal dialogue was particularly loud.

What were you thinking? Strong, healthy, vigorous, successful? You've bitten off more than you can chew, you can't possibly walk this whole thing. But I've already walked something close to 250 miles. Yeah but you have over 200 to go. It's a journey of self-discovery and there are bound to be obstacles and difficulties. Self-discovery? Haven't you discovered enough about yourself in these nearly 62 years? It's not like you lead the unexamined life, in fact you probably lead the OVER examined life. Ow, my feet hurt. You always rant about how unhealthy and out of touch sitting in front of a computer for 8 hours a day is, but maybe walking like an obsessive madman is just as unhealthy? Oh great, now it's raining and my feet are gonna get wet. Just give in, you know you like your comfort. But I really do believe a lot of the best things in life come when I'm out of my comfort zone.

And blah blah blah...well you get the picture.

Meanwhile I kept putting one foot in front of the other and I chipped off another 11.5 miles. I was planning to stop after 7 miles in Bercianos del Real Camino but I got there at noon and I still felt pretty good, so I stopped for some food, reserved a room in a cheap hotel in the next town, and headed on for another 4.5 miles to El Burgo Ranero. Turns out the hotel, just a couple hundred yards off the path, is about as far from the Camino stereotype as it could be. It's a truck stop hotel, with semis in the parking lot, a big cafeteria, and a trinket shop. I kinda love it, it reminds me of a cheap hotel in the middle of the American West. The folks here, at first glance, seem to be a combo of truckers and pilgrims. Fellini couldn't have come up with anything better than this.

Camino, day off: Sahagun 2

Stuck inside of Sahagun with the Santiago blues again...

Just kidding. Actually I lucked into being in Sahagun the very best weekend of the year. Festival weekend. Two nights ago there was the running of the bulls with all its mania, last night there was the bullfight and parade, today there's a street market, and tonight there's yet another running of the bulls! And I'm luxuriating in a 4-star hotel for well under 50 bucks a night including a lavish breakfast. And I've had some good interactions and meals with some fellow travelers. How can I possibly complain? In fact I could easily get used to this. Getting back on the path ain't gonna be easy!

I didn't go to the bullfight last night. I decided I just didn't want to see the gore. But what a scene in the streets. I didn't quite understand it. The fight was scheduled for 7:30 so I went to the area of the arena about 6:15 to check out the preliminaries. There was a crowd of several hundred folks, many of them members of various brass bands, warming up. Then around 7 or so the parade started, but the parade went away from the arena, rather than towards it. The music was wild with multiple bands playing different tunes at the same time, people of all ages were dancing in the streets, alcohol was greasing the wheels, and even I, non-dancer that I am, was moving. I joined the parade, which wound its way through the streets to the central square about 1.5 km from the arena, arriving just around the time the fight was starting. I didn't get the logistics, but it sure was a spectacle!

Then I had one of the best dinners of the trip so far, a break from the standard pilgrims' menu. Salad, sirloin tips topped with grilled goat cheese, thinly sliced fried potatoes and peppers, good bread, a ton of wine, and a to-die-for apple torte for dessert. Omg.

Just returned from the street fair, which was mostly a flea-market-like affair with some music, mostly just an excuse for the town to be outdoors together. And I'll be heading out there for the second running of the bulls in a few hours.

I've been walking about 3 miles a day around town the last 3 days, trying not to over-do it, but also not wanting to sit still all day. My feet seem to be on the mend but they're still somewhat worse for wear. I think I'm going to start back up tomorrow, easing in. I'll probably walk just 6 or 7 miles tomorrow to the next town with an albergue, and then hopefully 12 the next day, feet willing. At first I was sort of dreading the idea of being stuck here, but it's been a great stay here in Sahagun, and I'm going to be sorry to leave. Funny how that can happen.

Camino, day off: Sahagun 1

Yesterday my friend Rich asked about the emotional ramifications of having to get in a taxi, take a break, and maybe adjusting the way I will go on from here. There are a whole host of emotions batting about in me, and there have been during this whole adventure. I've been going up and down, joy to dread, bliss to tears, elation and connectedness to loneliness and what the hell am I doing out here, wonder at the marvels of the planet and what amazing architecture and art humans are capable of to wonder at the idiocy and violence that humans are capable of (I passed a mass grave for victims of the Spanish Civil War a few days before going through a Plaza de Generalissimo Francisco Franco, and who can forget the Inquisition when visiting the amazing Catholic churches throughout Spain?).

So the emotions of the last few days are just adding to the soup. Of course I'm disappointed that I can't seem to keep up the 14 mile-a-day pace I was hoping for without tearing up my feet, but to tell the truth I'm accepting it quite well. For one, I seem to be missing that macho gene prevalent in so many men, so when I confront my weaknesses--particularly my physical ones--it doesn't rankle me to the core. And for two, as I've grown older I've become much more process-oriented than goal-oriented. I try to put my all into things, and I'm hungry for experience, but if things don't work out as planned I'm generally ok with it. So I'm accepting where things stand quite comfortably. I'll make the best of it.

So far being "stuck" here in Sahagun has been just fine, and in fact I'm enjoying having the leisure time, just as I did in Burgos. I just got back from another walk around town, and it's a picturesque, historic town with early churches and monasteries. I haven't even gotten to many of them yet because I keep getting sidetracked taking photos. In fact the "stuckness" might work to my advantage. I've realized that I've often rushed through very photogenic towns because I had a mission to cover a certain amount of territory; maybe my feet are saying, whoa, slow down and look more closely. And yesterday evening was a trip. The running of the bulls through town. What a scene! Cacophonous bands, wild dancing, youthful posturing, and falling over bouncing off the walls drunkenness. Ok, here's my politically incorrect judgmentalism: it was certainly interesting anthropologically, but I found it a bit ridiculous. All these kids having to prove their virility, having to look and act tough. I had positioned myself in a perfect spot to take pics, right at a fence where the road curved and the action would come right towards me. Well there were a ton of 20 somethings waiting for the bulls right at that corner. When the bulls were more than 200 yards away, a whole host of of the young men started running right towards the fence and hopped over, long before the bulls even came close. My view and pics were gone and I was in the middle of a ton of guys who had "run with the bulls" but really hadn't. But they had proved themselves to the girls, and I guess that's what really matters.

I don't think I'll go to the bullfight tonight. There's so much hoopla going on, it might be enough for me. Earlier today I spent about 25 minutes watching groomers put horses' manes into lovely braided and embellished decorations. And I'll be able to watch the processions and the bands and the people on the way into the bullring. I just don't think I want to see the bulls actually being slaughtered.

Camino, day 22: Calzadilla to Sahagun...by taxi

I'm a strong believer in the power of the mind to overcome obstacles and influence one's health and recovery. But I also recognize that attitude brings with it the risk of doing damage and that I must respect my limitations. Several days the last couple of weeks I've walked through some significant pain but I felt that it wasn't risking my health. But after yesterday's soaking walk, and the Compeed doing more harm than good, my feet are a bit of a mess. A couple of blisters, one on each foot, are torn and bloody and I'm afraid that if I don't let them heal I'll be at risk of infection. So, reluctantly and frustratingly, I need to take a break and let my body heal.

I took a taxi this morning from Calzadilla (too remote for bus service, and I waited literally 90 minutes for the taxi to show up!) about 19 km to the nearest town, Sahagun, and I checked into a very comfortable hotel. I'm at a loss to explain pricing structure here; while not overly extravagant, this is a super modern, marble-floored, sleek 4-star hotel with generous rooms, and it's 34 euros a night (another 7 for a buffet breakfast). So I lucked out.

And the timing couldn't be better. It just so happens that tonight at 7:30, there's a mini-Pamplona, a running of the bulls through town. And the big annual bullfight is tomorrow evening and the toreros are staying in this hotel so there's quite the hubbub.

And while it was raining this morning, the sun appeared after I got here and I took a nice short stroll through town, grabbing some lunch and taking pictures. Mostly walls, as usual. So I'm making the best of it. I'll stay here at least a couple of days. If my feet are not making significant progress by then I may take a bus to Leon and camp out there as well. I may not be able to walk every mile but I don't want to jeopardize finishing this adventure in Santiago. So it's time to lay low.

Camino, day 21: Carrion de los Condes to Calzadilla

Well I have to say that today's walk was pretty awful. Last night I was awoken numerous times by torrential rains and impressively loud and sustained thunder. The rain seemed to be coming in waves. When I got up this morning the intensity had thankfully lessened but it was still coming down. We walked in constant rain for ten and a half miles through low fields with no structures except for a concrete lean-to, nowhere to change into a dry pair of socks. I was soaked and chilled through and through. As that Brit I mentioned a while back might have said, "rawther unpleasant, that!"

The unpleasantness of the weather was tempered by walking with a charming couple from California almost the entire time, he a still active 62 year old firefighter with 37 years under his belt, she a student hoping to become a nurse after a whole host of jobs over the years.

Theirs is the kind of love story one loves to hear. When she was 16 or 17 they fell in love, but he was 11 years older than she. Her father forbade the relationship and it didn't survive and they went on their separate ways, both to marry and have a couple kids each. But after the marriages fell apart they somehow found each other again and have been together for three years. She said she's been madly in love with him since she was a teenager. When they first started seeing each other for the second time she said she really wanted for them to walk the Camino and he agreed, but in an aside said to me "when you're first dating you pretty much say yes to anything; I didn't think she'd hold me to it!" He was having a much easier time of it than she; her feet are pretty messed up and she's had to taxi it a few times, but he hasn't missed a step. When we arrived at the hostel in which I had reserved a room, we stopped, had a cup of coffee, they continued on and we said goodbye. A nice encounter.

Unfortunately the weather report is not encouraging. Looks like off and on rain the next few days. I'm trying to consider my options. My feet, already messed up, got worse today in the wetness, and I don't want to do irreparable damage. I'll see what it's like in the morning. I'm about halfway through and I haven't yet skipped a step, but if I feel it's the right thing to do, I will. 

Camino, day off: Carrion de los Condes

Hotel Real Monasterio San Zoilo, Carrion de los Condes.

When I got to this oasis, a hotel that might as well be a museum, I decided I just had to stay an extra night and rest my feet. I'm in heaven, a 16th century monastery converted into a hotel. It still has its active chapel (actually a large and beautifully adorned church), several courtyards, a crypt, and a small museum housing capitals and other artifacts recovered during the renovation. And it's quiet, peaceful, and timeless, a perfect place to lie around and do nothing. And including a lavish buffet breakfast it's less than $65 a night. I'm getting very spoiled. Only slight drawback is it's over a km into town each way so I'll make that trip a couple of times. Dinner here costs more than the night's stay.

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Camino, day 20: Fromista to Carrion de los condes

For a few years in my late 20s and early 30s I suffered from periodic debilitating severe back pain. It nearly did me in, and I think Terry was wondering what life was going to be like married to a disabled man. During one really bad episode I was stuck on the floor of our apartment for about three weeks, it was all I could do to make it to the bathroom, and my life's goal was to be able to sit upright in a chair. When I finally could, I took a 15 minute stroll in our lower-middle class neighborhood in Oakland, which wouldn't have been a particular destination for beauty seekers. But after what I had been through I thought there couldn't have been a more gorgeous place on earth. I have a distinct memory of the look and smell of the flowers and the feel of the sun and breeze on my arms. It was transcendent and unforgettable.

Though there are a few lucky souls who seem to be dancing along the Camino in shoes made of cloud springs, most people are suffering to various degrees. Sore muscles, knee or hip pain, sore shoulders or backs, and there's more talk about feet than a foot fetishist would dream of. And yet most people seem happy to be doing it and keep on trucking, myself included.

I've been pondering the relationship between pain and suffering on the one hand, and joy and the perception of beauty on the other. Is it possible that I might I be having such an amazing experience because of my pain, rather than despite it? It makes it easier to appreciate the contrast, but is it necessary? I'd like to believe it's not.

Today's walk, joy and pain, was a little over 13 miles including getting to my hotel, mostly on thankfully relatively flat and easy dirt and gravel paths alongside a two lane highway, through rolling farmland, four picture-perfect villages, past beautifully proportioned medieval churches, and past a flock of sheep so close together that I wondered how they could possibly move, and even in those conditions I watched two males mounting females. Stopped at an albergue for refreshment, where roosters, chicks, dogs and cats were running all over the place. And stepped into a couple of churches that were cool and dark, a momentary respite from the strong sun.

After several days of winging it, I reserved a room in a hotel in Carrion de Los Condes for tonight. The downside is that it turned out to be about 3/4 mile past the center of town and I was really ready to stop walking (and I'll have to walk for dinner), but the upside is that it's glorious, a converted huge 16th century monastery with great shaded grounds with old trees. My room, simple but beautiful, has French doors that open onto a view of the geometric courtyard with cypress trees and a fountain. It's kind of a dream place for me. And it's cheap. Terry I wish you were here!

Oh, about that back pain. I tried lots of stuff, doctors, swimming, floor exercises, yoga, meditation, creative visualization, chiropractors, anything. Turned out what solved the problem for me was walking, with some visualization thrown in. I started walking 30+ years ago and never stopped. I don't want to jinx anything by saying it, but except for a couple of weeks in 1997, my back hasn't bothered me since. And the walking has led me here.

Camino, day 19: Itero de la Vega to Fromista. "Pilgrim Road"

One of the cool things about the Camino is that you often get thrown together with a bunch of folks for dinner. Sometimes it can be uncomfortable (are we going to use my pathetic French or your slightly less bad English to miscommunicate?) but usually it's fun and stimulating. Last night it totally clicked. Ten of us from five countries (Sweden, Holland, New Zealand, South Africa, and the States) sitting around the only table at the albergue for a 7 o'clock dinner with shared wine and conversation that lasted past 9:30 (late by Camino time).

The only other guy at the table, a 50-something retired Google jackpot winner from Virginia who turned out to be a Cornell grad, was wearing a t-shirt with an image of John Wayne dressed as a Pilgrim from one of his movies. Someone asked about it and he proceeded to give a good, detailed explanation of the Pilgrims, the Colonial era, religious freedom issues, etc. It sparked a lively discussion with lots of questions. At one point I offered that I had grown up in a postwar housing development near NYC named Colonial Corners and that the name of my street was Pilgrim Road. To my surprise it brought an audible gasp from the whole table.

Today's walk was a short and easy 8.5 miles, again through enormous-sky geometric landscapes of grain, and for the first time, corn, a lovely stop in Boadilla del Camino for what might have been the best ham, cheese, and tomato omelette in the history of omelettedom in an albergue that sang of artistic creativity and good vibes, a fifteen minute stop to watch Sunday morning services in a beautifully proportioned Romanesque church, a couple of miles along a reed-bordered canal, and countless walls and shadows and endless sun before I reached Fromista, my stop for today.

I had one moment of terror/shock/wonder/amazement. About 20 minutes outside of Boadilla I was startled from my reverie with the the thought that, OMG, I left my pack in the albergue. It lasted only a split second, and I immediately realized that of course I was wearing it. But it made me think that maybe, just maybe, I'm becoming one with my pack. It was a blissful moment.

Camino, day 18: Hontanas to Itero de la Vega

I've spent time walking with a bunch of folks the last week or so, getting a tiny glimpse of the wide array of people walking here, some doing it for just a few days, others for far longer.

Last week I walked with a wealthy 66 year old Australian sports lawyer who was trying to do a week of the Camino as part of an otherwise super luxe 4 month swing through Europe, including a private car tour of southern Spain, a yacht cruise through the Greek Isles, a week each in Paris and London, etc., all meticulously arranged by his personal assistant. He was struggling and was taking a taxi at least part way to his hotel each day (one of his repeated lines was "at this age I don't have anything to prove"), but he stuck with me for a good 7 miles. I heard about his soccer-star clients, his race horses, and about his partner who had embezzled millions of dollars from his firm. But I also heard about his wife's agonizing death from breast cancer, before which he had never made a meal for himself and never even bought his own clothes. She died last year and he just doesn't know how to cope or what to do. He said he'd walked further than he would have if he hadn't met me but finally he said he had to take a taxi, so we stopped at a bar and said goodbye.

Yesterday I caught up to a couple of 40-something Englishwomen, one of them wearing a t-shirt that said "Pilgrim with Purpose". So naturally the first thing I said was "what's your purpose?" She said oh it was a joke gift a friend had given her before she went off on a week vacation/Camino walk, this being their last day. But within minutes I was hearing about how both of these women, one a family lawyer and the other a mid-level government worker, both from Brighton, were unhappy with the too safe life choices they had made and were hoping that a week's walk might give them some perspective and insight. We ended up chatting non-stop for about 90 minutes, but they were having foot problems so they had to stop.

And a 50ish Australian legal secretary living in Barbados whose life was "too easy" (is there really such a thing?), so she wanted to test herself. A Swiss 40 year old who owned a video rental store in Zurich for ten years, saved up dough, closed the shop in 2009, and has been traveling ever since, mostly living on the cheap next to beaches in Thailand, Goa, Turkey, etc., and who felt like he needed a good walk. He has enough money to last another couple of years and then he'll have to figure out what's next. Three 60 something retired Frenchmen I sat at dinner with last night who had already walked over a thousand kilometers!  And today I walked the last couple of miles into town with a 62 year old guy from Manchester England, just given an early retirement package by the BBC, who in his early days had been a concert promoter for the Sex Pistols and The Clash. I would have loved continuing our conversation but I was at the end of my walk and he was going on another 8 miles.

I love the connection and the camaraderie and the sharing of stories and the fact that the walk goes more quickly when I'm with people. But I also feel like I'm missing something. There's something about the meditative solitude of aloneness, the being hyper aware of my environment, how it looks and sounds and smells, about noticing things. 

Today's walk was almost unbearably beautiful at times. There was a steep rise at one point and the views it afforded were phenomenal. Much of the time the landscape was an ever flowing series of wonderful abstractions.

But my feet don't like these 13 mile walks. They're good for about 8 miles, but after that it's blisters and pain. The rest I got in Burgos was good and I had hoped that had solved the problem, but I guess I just have to deal. Gotta replenish my Compeed--"artificial skin"-- at the next pharmacy. The rest of my body seems to be holding up well, my muscles feel strong, my knees and hips are fine, my wind is good, I have no trouble climbing the hills; my feet are the sole problem (ha ha!).

Now I'm relaxing in a microscopic 12 euro private room with shared bath in a private home/albergue. And there's a washing machine! For the first time in weeks I'm not doing the wash-in-the-sink routine. To small pleasures, as well as grand, in life!

Camino, day 17: Tardajos to Hontanas. "With a wide open country in my eyes and these romantic dreams in my head..."

Bruce Springsteen's lyrics floated through my head as I walked the exquisite, mostly flat, sometimes a bit hilly, mostly treeless and shadeless 13+ mile stretch of big-sky country between Tardajos, where I spent last night, and Hontanas, a village where I've stopped for the night.

A lovely day, with a consistently beautiful landscape and a range of people, weather, and feelings. I walked briefly with folks from Germany, Switzerland, Australia, and England, and the conversations were easy and interesting. But I spent the majority of the time on my own walking on the relatively easy dirt and gravel path through fields of grain as far as the eye could see. For much of the day the sun was strong but the temps were lower than yesterday and there was a refreshing breeze. For the first several hours my body felt good and strong, my feet were barely murmuring, my stride hit just the right rhythm and there were moments that felt like perfection. I must have been experiencing what people refer to as runners' euphoria. It felt so right to be crossing the planet at two or three miles per hour.

As the day wore on the sun got stronger and hotter, and at around the 11 mile mark I wished I was done. But then the clouds thickened and it started to rain very gently. How wonderful! It doused the sun, cut the heat, didn't drench my pack, and raised my mood, and the final couple of miles were not so bad. If I were a religious man I might have seen it as a gift from God, but for now I'll attribute it to good luck and perfect timing.

Camino, day 16: Burgos to Tardajos. "climb like an old man, arrive like a young man"

Well I had a "blast" in Burgos the last couple of days, luxuriating in doing very little, staying in two nice hotels (I changed to save a bit of dough), and not wearing a backpack or shoes. I did walk the beautiful streets some, watching people and loving the buildings, and the high point was a visit to the cathedral. It's right up there with the great ones of Europe. Unlike many, whose ground plans tend to be based on the cross, the Burgos cathedral is decentralized and you wander through chapel after chapel in a seemingly haphazard order, all decorated opulently in a melange of styles by artists ranging from the medieval era to the 18th century, one as grand as the other.

After a couple of days off, I felt uncertain when I put on my shoes and pack this morning, but I quickly got into the rhythm. Leaving Burgos was so different from approaching it. On the way in you first walk alongside the airport on the outskirts of the city, then through several miles of urban grit, with factories, warehouses, car dealerships, repair shops, and heavy traffic, then a couple more miles through an attractive modern part of town, before finally coming to the glorious old section with its ancient buildings, some stone, and others stucco painted all sorts of pastel hues. On the way out you walk through a huge municipal park, beautifully maintained, then through some clean modern suburbs, past the University of Burgos, and much more abruptly, back to the natural environment. Not idyllic--there are power lines, occasional buildings, and nearby roads--but you're back out in the country.

My walk was only about seven miles today, but I'll add a couple more because my albergue is a ways off the Camino, and outside of town. I have the luxury to be able to walk short days. When I arranged this trip I gave myself loads of time to do the walk. For one, I wanted to savor it rather than swallow it whole, take pics, write, and not feel rushed. Also, I was concerned about my stamina and endurance. So many people are having to keep to demanding schedules, walking with injuries, and in some cases at least, enduring rather than enjoying it. I'm like the proverbial tortoise, plodding along, sometimes doing half stages per day, stopping when I need to, and hopefully I'll cross the finish line in one piece. My friend Rich told me on his Camino that he heard a phrase that roughly translates to "climb like an old man, arrive like a young man"; I've changed "climb" to "walk" and it's one of my mantras now.

Camino, day off: Burgos

I've long been a fan of 16th and 17th Spanish still life painters, particularly Juan Sanchez Cotan. His depictions of fruits, often lit against dark backgrounds, work a strange magic on me. They're austere, glowing and luscious at the same time. Winding my way through the streets of Burgos I came across several fruit sellers whose wares were beautifully displayed. Though Cotan's compositions were nothing like this--his often featured only a few items with a lot of space between them--I got a visceral sense of where his inspiration came from.

Camino, day 15: Ages to Burgos

When I was a young kid my parents had on their bookshelf a volume of cartoons by an artist embedded with GI's on the front line slogging through Europe in the Second World War. I read it again and again when I was 6, 7, 8, and I was particularly impressed by the disproportionate number of references to bad boots, hurting feet, wet socks, and trading packs of cigarettes for dry ones. I remember feeling really sorry for the soldiers. And Mark Helprin, in his terrific WWI novel "A Soldier of the Great War" posits that one can predict which soldiers will survive the war and which ones will die by whether they have hard calloused feet or soft ones.

I think I can relate.

Thank you everyone for your blister advice. I've tried pretty much everything, greasing, patching, draining and treating with iodine, changing socks in the middle of the day, but nothing seems to be solving the problem. I attribute it to good old genetics.

And blisters made today's walk a bit of a struggle. Much of the 14 miles was on ok terrain, but it still hurt. There was about a two mile stretch that was the most treacherous part of the walk so far (even worse than the mud outside Zubiri). An ascent and descent on rutted, uneven earth, a lot of it with deep impressions of tractor tires presumably made in the mud that then hardened in place, all with embedded stones large and small over every square inch so there were just no flat spots to place one's feet. Really tough. And then the last couple of miles of the endless entry into Burgos in the 85 degree sun had me drooping pretty low. My backpack felt like I was carrying a house.

The day was redeemed by the rolling hills, the panoramic views, the sun burning off the morning cloud cover and the mists rising off the distant mountains, the villages with their wonderful walls and doors and shadows, the evocative urban grit on the outskirts of the city, and the beauty of the center city as I inched closer to my hotel. And the fact that I've made it all the way to Burgos!

After sleeping, I mean not sleeping, with seven others in cramped quarters last night, and after being startled awake the night before in my funky pension at 1 AM by a couple fighting with each other in a room down the thin-walled hall and then not being able to go back to sleep, I checked into a luxurious hotel in central Burgos. I'm here for two nights and I'll be taking tomorrow off. That means I don't have to put my shoes back on for about 40 hours, and come to think of it I don't have to move either.

Camino, day 14: Villafranca to Ages (Death and life)

Well, I was pretty sure my post today was going to focus on blisters and foot pain and the body's and mind's mechanisms for coping and overcoming. But after about 10 minutes of climbing the steep hill on the way out of Villafranca I nearly caught up to a couple of women walking in front of me and heard random pieces of their conversation. The words included funeral home and cremation and embassy and, well you may have guessed it, one of them was the woman who lost her husband on the first day of their Camino. Not exactly husband--they had lived together 12 years and were as good as married--but not officially. Which was causing all sorts of problems with legal authorities and death certificates and all the officialdom of death.

I ended up walking the ensuing remote 11 mile stretch through the woods with them and it was a delightful encounter, positive and animated and fun. We shared stories and laughter. Both women are devoted world travelers who have walked all over the planet, Peru, the Alps, England, Nepal, the USA. The other woman, a retired school teacher from Long Island, lost her husband a number of years ago and has since set up a non-profit to build schools in Nepal and was there just two weeks before the recent disaster. And the woman who lost her partner is a heavy hitter, formerly dean of the Duke Law School and the recently retired President of the Claremont Colleges, now living in Santa Barbara. Both brilliant and quick and full of stories. Our walk together was a powerful affirmation of life. I stopped in Ages because I was concerned about getting a bed; they had hotel reservations in the next town. We parted all thanking each other for the company and hoping to see each other further down the road.

I guess writing about blisters will have to wait. By the way, the guy who died--indeed it was a heart attack and indeed his body was cremated--was named Larry.

Camino, day 13: Belorado to Villafranca

Is it possible to die from an overdose of beauty?

Yesterday afternoon, feet hurting, I stopped at the first albergue I came to on the edge of Belorado, so until this morning I had no idea how charming the town is. I left early today under a cool grey sky and walked across the town in its early quiet and saw an amazing display of storks' nests at the top of a church. The nests are architectural wonders, massive and thick.

I'm not of the school that believes one must experience pain to enjoy pleasure, but sometimes they're surely intertwined. Today was such a day. I kept my walk modest--only seven miles or so--for fear of doing further damage to my feet and because I wanted to be sure to have a bed; the albergues and pensions are filling up earlier in the afternoon as the season gets busier.

But what a walk. The air, the sun burning off the grayness, the rolling landscape with untold numbers of Nike swoops, the shades and hues of greens and browns and ochres, the silence and solitude, put me into a state of meditative bliss. I walked slowly--it took me four hours--but I had some of those moments of perfect melding of body and spirit and landscape and movement. The euphoria had me holding back tears.

Or were the held-back tears for my feet? I, like so many other folks, am having blister problems. I treat one blister, and because I'm favoring one part of the foot, another pops out. It's interesting though. If I stop walking and start up again it feels like there's just no way I can walk. But after a hundred yards or so the pain dissipates and becomes tolerable. 

I scored a private room with shared bath in a very basic pension, 18 euros, in the small village of Villafranca Montes de Oca, about halfway through this stage. I'm now sitting outside--no wifi in my room--in the cool dry sun-drenched air, just having treated my feet, and feeling lucky. One thought I had today is that I have the spirit and soul of an intrepid adventurer, but I have the feet of someone who should be studying Talmud.

Camino, day 12: Santo Domingo to Belorado

Two really terrifying stories, one with some sort of redemption, are being shared all along the route; I've now heard them both from multiple sources. The first is particularly shocking; a woman walking alone has gone missing and is assumed to have been abducted. This was my worst nightmare fear when my daughter Rachel walked the Camino alone in 2008. I lost a lot of sleep over it, but every blog and every story about women walking alone was always reassuringly positive and emphasized how safe it was. This story has understandably sent shock waves through the circuit. Women walking alone are now advising each other to join up and walk together. There has long been a sense of safety and security here, a sense that everyone is looking out for each other. At least to some degree, that security bubble seems to have been punctured.

The second piece of news kind of parallels the movie "The Way". Apparently two couples (described as "older", but I'm not sure what that means--70s? my age?) set out together from St. Jean Pied a Port, and one of the men died of a heart attack while attempting to cross the Pyrenees. The body was taken back to St. Jean, where it was cremated. And the wife and the other couple decided to continue their pilgrimage. I'm pretty sure I would have opted to run back to some sort of safety and security or at least familiarity, but what a bold way to mourn and honor her husband. I wish her strength and resilience and not too much pain.

I got a late start on today's walk--I didn't leave until close to 9:30--partly because I wanted to savor what was one of the most beautiful hotels I ever slept in. Not that my room was particularly large or well-appointed, but the public areas were just astounding, with gorgeous stone work, soaring spaces, and beautiful art and furniture. I had breakfast in another grand and beautiful part of the complex, and loaded up on eggs, bacon, cheeses, good bread, and rich coffee. I really didn't want to leave that place.

I stepped outside to completely different weather. The sun and air yesterday were my fantasy ideal, when just sitting outside eased my muscles and bones and made me feel that all is right in the universe. Today was damp and chilly with a fine mist that over the hours made my clothes wet and cold. The landscape was again beautiful, lush and stark at the same time, but today the route was adjacent to a highway for a number of miles, so it didn't have the idyllic away-from-it-all feeling so present yesterday.

I managed to walk the 14 miles across the hills from Santo Domingo de la Calzada through several very small villages to Belorado, but not without some difficulty. Danged blisters. My spirit and the rest of my body were gung-ho, but my toes were saying wtf are you doing? I wasn't the only one in that predicament, and in fact I walked with several people whose day was compromised by pain.

Now I'm in a private room in an albergue that might win the award for least charm and character on the Camino. Feels like a Motel Six. But don't get me wrong, I'm deeply appreciative of having a room, a shower, wifi, and the conveniences of modern life. And they have a pilgrim's dinner starting soon, so hopefully the company will let the background fade away.

Camino, day 11: Najera to Santo Domingo

Maybe the most beautiful day of the Camino so far. Just under 14 miles from Najera to Santo Domingo de la Calzada on smooth wide dirt paths through gorgeously undulating farmland, with interlocking patchworks of different colored crops making the whole day seem like a giant living abstract painting; Richard Diebenkorn, the West Coast painter and master of color, came to mind. And all under a solid blue sky with strong sun, just cool enough to make it the weather of my dreams.

And unlike the several previous days it was a social hike. I walked the whole day with a lovely 40 year old woman from New Jersey, a social worker taking a year off to try to figure out the next phase of her life. Spending three months at a Zen Buddhist retreat in Vermont, visiting a bunch of friends in various parts of Europe, and doing the Camino are among her adventures for the year. Curiously the first thing she said to me was "Are you Jewish?" and when I said yes she said "Oh good, you're the first Jewish guy I've met here." A strange introduction, but it turns out she's first generation Ecuadoran who grew up in an all Jewish neighborhood and she was a riot. And we walked for a few hours with a man from San Francisco roughly the same age, a clinical psychologist doing the Camino for the second time; two years ago he did it in 28 days!!! We had a blast, with animated conversation the whole time. She's been unlucky in love and at one point she said, wait a minute, I'm looking for love and I'm walking all day with a gay guy and a guy who's been married for 35 years?

And a touching encounter yesterday. I had arranged a private room in the albergue in Najera and was checking in when a somewhat exasperated looking German couple pushed ahead of me in line. I wasn't in a rush so I let it be, and the woman behind the desk, seeing what had happened, gave me a knowing look. Later I was about to shower and there was no soap. I asked the woman if I could buy some body soap and she said please wait five minutes. When she came with the soap I asked what I owed and she said, no, nothing, and turned to leave. Then she turned back around and said, oh yes, you owe me two kisses. I kissed her on both cheeks and we exchanged warm smiles. A lovely moment.

And now I'm in one of the nicest hotels I've ever stayed in, the Parador de Santo Domingo Bernardo de Fresnada. I thought I was splurging at 65 euros for the night, but what a bargain. The exquisite building is a former convent and university dating from the medieval era, restored magnificently, now housing the hotel and an art restoration laboratory. Early Spanish paintings and prints adorn the walls in the lobby and halls, the entry floor is inlaid stone in floral patterns, and there are fine examples of 17th and 18th century furniture throughout. What a heavenly surprise!