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 until nearly 10 (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 fellow 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 suburb of New York City and that the name of my street was Pilgrim Road. To my surprise it brought an audible gasp from the whole table.

Today 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 brief 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 thought that, OMG, I left my pack at the albergue where I had lunch. 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 20: FROMISTA TO CARRION DE LOS CONDOS

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 was finally able to walk, 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 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 kinda in heaven. It's a 16th century monastery converted into a hotel. It still has its active chapel (more like a grand 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 to my amazement, 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 would actually cost more than the night's stay.

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CAMINO, DAY 21: CARRION DE LOS CONDES TO CALZADILLA; RAIN AND ENDURING LOVE

Well I have to say that today's was a pretty awful walk. 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 to a lighter but steady rain. I resigned myself to getting wet. And I did, through and through, and cold too; the path traversed seemingly endless fields with absolutely no shelter. As that British fellow 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 11 miles, he a still active 62 year old firefighter with 37 years under his belt, she a 51 year-old 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 hostal in which I had reserved a room, we stopped, had a cup of coffee, and 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 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've also got to 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 11 miles 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 OFF: SAHAGUN 1

Yesterday my friend Rich asked about the emotional ramifications of having to get in a taxi for 11 miles, take a break, and perhaps reconsider how I proceed. There are a whole host of emotions batting about in me, as 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 mix. 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 ok with it. 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 at this stage I'm more process-oriented than goal-oriented. I try to put my all into things, 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 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 the running of the bulls through town. Carnival weekend! Cacophonous bands, wild dancing, youthful posturing, and falling-over, bouncing-off-the-walls drunkenness. Ok, here's my politically incorrect judgmentalism: while interesting anthropologically, it seemed 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 teens and 20-somethings waiting for the bulls right at that corner. When the bulls were more than 200 yards away, a whole host 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'll be enough for me. On a walk 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 don't need to see bulls actually being slaughtered.

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 just didn't want to see the gore and slaughter. 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 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? 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. Strong, healthy... 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. ...vigorous, successful. 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 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, some with young wheat, some with vegetables, some lying fallow, some with recently tilled rich dark brown earth, 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 25: ENTERING LEON

I stopped into two bars for water today on my way from Mansilla to Leon and serendipitously heard two very similar conversations. Both were Spanish pilgrims speaking in English 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, highway 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.

I was in the zone for a good 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 from Leon to Santiago. I might just make it.

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 soaringly. The stained glass, with its elaborate floral motifs, is beautiful, as are the carved wooden entry doors set into 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 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 too.

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...

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 marshy land. Once in town, after stopping at a friendly bar for water and directions, I came upon the 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 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 a marriage of 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 to 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 (as did Terry and I), 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 which is perched on a hill, 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 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 29: ASTORGA TO RABANAL DEL CAMINO

When Terry sent me a draft of her lovely and subtle Father's Day reverie about her dad 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 permitted to 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 and the revealing.

And Terry's post has gotten all sorts of positive reaction. That makes me so happy. 

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 takes 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, 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 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 away the flies. 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.

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 the sense of personal space is so different and people can be right 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  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 with his mother in her small apartment subsidized by the province for seniors, but then his mother died and since he had to be 55 to qualify for her 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. 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 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 blue his eyes were and how open and friendly his face seemed. 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 child 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 but one of his parents suddenly died and he ended up staying home. Then he went to university and met his wife and before long they 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 couldn't take the time off to do it. He and his family took some walking vacations, but nothing big. Then five 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 somehow 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 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 so long and we hope to meet up again. A wonderful 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, Camponaraya--and across fields of vegetables and vineyards filled with workers, 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, hot, sunny and dry, my body is moving in a steady comfortable rhythm, my feet issues while not solved are at least at 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 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 hundreds of 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 criss-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.

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