Oct 12 - So long, for now

Walnuts. Customs.  Speak most of trip with man from Chicago.  Don't know when I will return.  Committed to Finland next.

Oct 11 Toledo and Tapas like the tourist I now am

Mercado de San Miguel.  Bus tour to Toledo, finally, and whirl-wind walk through the town before we are dropped in a shop to buy damascene products, I just buy a box of marzipan (I don't need a sword), since we walked too fast to stop at any shops. Get dropped off on Gran Via.  Movie preview with screaming fans.  Mouth full of trout scales.  It's the evening before a national holiday, recession be damned.  The streets are packed, the bars are packed, everyone is out, eating and drinking.

Oct 10 - oh, the toilet's open after all

Long, long bus ride from S de C to Madrid. Bus driver's accident in Lugo. Dent when I look in Ponferada. Run to toilet in La Coruna, no paper.  Turns out there really was a working toilet on bus, just don't realize it for the first 6 hours.

Oct 9 - Back in S de C

last look at the city from the seminary building/L Herlevi

Oct 8 - Muxia or no?

I wake up not knowing what I will do, lying in the bunk thinking, "well, I really could walk to Muxia, " and at any rate, have to get up and get out of the refugio by 8 am.  Pack up, and walk across the street to drink cafe con leche and eat tostada. I look at the guidebook and think. 33 kms.  I don't really know where the road is.  45 minutes later, I start walking, I still haven't decided.  I try to find the road to Praia do Mar de Fora, but get lost, I ask a man walking down the road, he points it out, I sorta understand, and he follows in the same direction.  The road ends far away from the water and I make my way across the 1/2 mile of dunes and plants to the shoreline. There must be an official route, I never do find it, bush-whack my way back to town as well.  I sat on the beach for a couple of hours, watched people swim in the high surf, near the "don't go in the water" signs.


Praia do Mar de Fora/L Herlevi

Paris Texas. T from Barcelona, misses bus, we eat almuerzo together, he points out how I pronounce "menu" incorrectly. He's right of course, I've been pronouncing it "mehnoo" in his presence, he picks at my attempts at spanish, making me less likely to speak it. Says I should move to Spain, I ask what I would do for a job, and say that the unemployment rate is high for Spaniards.  He catches the bus with me, watches as I jerk awake from "bus sleep,"says we have to get a divorce when we seemingly disagree about lock-up times in albergues. Arrive in the Santiago station, a kiss on cheek in bus terminal and he is gone forever, but after getting lost and meeting him, suddenly I am able to laugh again after I can't even remember how long. And I guess that would be the miracle, looking back at it.  And now I am off to find place to stay, stop by a pastry shop. It's windy in SdeC.  It was a 4-hour bus ride.

Oct 7 - Lost at the end of the world

First look at the Atlantic Ocean.  Divers for Navaja.  Walk on beach, have a full breakfast at the restaurant.  Enjoying the perfect moment.  20 minutes after leaving here, I follow the guidebook's idea that I can walk along the beach, and I lose the arrows.  I walk up a road that dead ends, followed by a couple of overly-interested dogs, and end up on a cliff-side tree plantation. Think that I should turn back, but keep walking forward.  Think that if I die here, it will be years before anyone finds me, before the trees are harvested. The tire ruts are over grown.  Bush-whack my way back to the highway, and come out near the look-out point that meets up with the Camino.  Laugh my head off like a lunatic, so happy I am to be "found." Get lost once again returning from lighthouse (in Finisterre) because I wander off trying to find Ara Solis, which apparently doesn't exist anymore, but I wasn't paying enough attention. Guidebook and map describe a way back into town, but road suddenly ends, and I bushwhack (again) my way down an overgrown path and end up in a housing development.  I leave the rock I'm carrying at a path-side shrine, as a form of "thanks" for finding my way back to civilization.  I meet up with the Irish women and others who want to go watch the sunset, but having been lost enough today, I stay put until they return.  We go out to a fancy seafood dinner.  Dog that wants to be a peregrino, too. Meet T. Weird curtainless shower.

Oct 6 - Cee

Sleep like a rock. Bad, bad sunburn. No miracle yet. Dirty albergue, but happy for quiet of it all. Have dinner with Mary from Ireland. The waiter gives her a hard time when she asks for the "menu del dia," apparently because it's officially "noche, " but really, it is the same menu.  It's also what everyone else seems to want as well.  I dash off after dinner because I can't remember when my albergue closes, and it's across town.  I make it back with 1 minute to spare.  Creepy white lipped fish in the inlets, sucking city outflows en masse near the drainage pipes.

Oct 5 - Lost, lost and lost again

I last see the beautiful Italian cyclist outside the refugio, say goodbye and "Buen Camino." Guidebook doesn't match reality and am lost most of afternoon. Hot. Sunburned legs. I see the the Irish women as I cross the bridge 2kms from town, but stay in that alburgue which turns out to be a storage container, or a FEMA trailer. It's boiling hot inside, but the hospitalera shuts all the windows to keep out the mosquitos. We all swelter in the dark night.

Oct 4 - off to Negreira

Leave the refugio early.  Two older women are kicking through the leaves in the park, picking up chestnuts, placing them in plastic shopping bags.  I go through the market and pick up some fruit at an open stall, then to a bakery to get a sweet roll and an empanada.  I eat the roll before I even leave town, when I get to the main plaza at the cathedral.

At the refugio in Negreira, I meet the three Irish women who have been walking the Camino in sections, this being the last. We go grocery shopping and then out to dinner. Keep making eye contact with an older, beautiful, Italian cyclist. He reminds me of a heavier version of George Clooney. The Irish women tell me a story about meeting the father and brother of someone who died in the Pyrenees in 2009. He had prepared for the winter Camino in the Netherlands, but hadn't been prepared to cross the mountains into Spain in a snowstorm. This was the same storm I experienced a bit of in Lourdes. The storm that made me decide to start in Pamplona that winter instead of St. Jean. It's a very small, interconnected world.

Oct 3 - S de C like a tourist

Finally go to Cathedral Museum. Fantastic view, wonder that I have not come before (I was probably broke.)

Oct 2 - Arrive for noon mass

Leave before light breaks the sky.  Hospitalero is waiting outside in car to close up, motor running, headlights burning.  Dawn breaks loudly on the shores of memory with the crashing of cymbals, baying of hounds, bird song, crowing of roosters and cawing of crows.  Magic happens when heaven and earth meet, so rare.  From the seclusion of Herbon I return to the every day with its car horns and belching and drunkenness...after enlightenment, chop wood, carry water:

Not quite dawn

we live in this world. Lost train of thought, morning was dark, no place to stop and sit.

Stop at a sports complex just outside the city, and drink cafe con leche.  There are crowds and crowds of people up ahead, on a Sunday walk. Then I am alone again as I cross over the railroad and make my way up the empty trails of the Portuguese entrance to the city. There's a university district and then a park with a church and then Rua da Franco with numero 5, and then the gate with the horses. I arrive for the noon mass. The fastest I have walked on this trip. Somehow because of the doorway, and because I want communion, I end up in the path of the butafumiero watching the swing and the smell of the smoke and hoping the knot doesn't break.

Oct 1 - Teo, 14 kms to S de C

St. James, Padron/L Herlevi

I thought the hospitalero said I could stay as long as I wanted, so after mass, where I finally received a pilgrim's blessing, I sit in the main room trimming down my orthodics even more.  It's after 10 am when I walk outside, they are both there waiting. I'm willing myself not to cry, been fighting it since mass this morning.  I lose that battle. They both hug me goodbye, when I scrunch up my face to fight back tears, the woman from Madrid comes back over and hugs me again and kisses my cheek.  I walk away, crying and don't turn around.  I try not to cry for the next couple of kms.  By the time I arrive on the edge of Padron, I'm fine.  I see a sign for the Rosaria Castro House, so I go to the museum.  It's Saturday. I leave my pack outside. I am the only visitor there.  And I'm not sure where I am.  My guide is good for coming from a different direction.
In Padron, I visit the church and then go find the park with the Monument to St. James. Eat the sandwich the hospitalero made me, while avoiding the lizards darting out of the rock wall to bask in the sun.
Woman in black, leaning out of upstairs window sternly yells at me to redirect me when I go wrong way. I am grateful.  Stay in Teo.  Walk along highway to center of business area.  Realize in the morning that there was another way.

Sept 30 - Detour to Herbon

Trail to the convent/L Herlevi

Waffling until I get to the point of no return.  On the one hand, one of my points for coming this way was to see the "birthplace" of the pimientos de padron.  On the other, Padron is where St. James' ministry was when  he was alive. In the end I go to Herbon. It's a lonely, deserted walk.  I arrive early, drop my pack against the church, and leave my boots as well.   They still hurt.  But it's the orthodics, I know now.  I'm so happy when he opens the door to welcome me, I know there isn't going to be anyone else, and my fear is that I won't be able to stay either.  He is later joined by a new hospitalera from Madrid, she will take his place, and he will go home. They are both lovely. I have them to myself because no other peregrinos show up. I love my time with them once we meet for dinner, get the convent tour, etc. So glad seeing a chef talk about a pepper on a cooking show in America brought me here. Being here was definitely the highlight of my trip.

Sept 29 - Caldas de Reis

Spa water/L Herlevi

Hot, hot water. Ponte. Nowhere to have dinner, and I'm really hungry.  Stick my feet in the boiling hot water with the other spa tourists.  My foot has been better since then.

Sept 28 - Mos to Pontevedra

Half-cooked pork. American has bad knees, manages to finally get ahold of a friend of a friend in Vigo, stays behind to catch bus.  Steepest section of Camino ahead, so good call.  Only day of rain, and it's pouring when we get up.  I spend all day alone.

Sept 27 - Tui to Mos

American, locked in toilet again, goats, woman I don't understand, man with fennel flower in his hand appearing out of nowhere as I pause on the curb wondering to myself which way to go, and he points me in the right direction and then disappears.  The authentic route says I should walk along a shoulder-less freeway.  I say no way, Jose, find another way.  End up in Mos where the roads meet again.  Perpetually assuming that I am lost, but stubbornly refusing to walk in traffic.  Can't do it.

Sept 26 - to be or not be in Portugal

So ready to be in Spain, I walk across the bridge. Cranky. Lost. Man wants to take my photo. dinner with chorizo and I make it back on time.  Only 5 of us in albergue, oddly, later Michel tells me that I was  talking in my sleep.  And in spite of the proximity of Galicia to Portugal, to a similarity of language (Gallego and Portuguese), and to the lingering influence of the Celts, once I've crossed the bridge over the river I know I've entered Spain.  It's not just the sign saying "Bienvenido a España" or the hour difference in time that you add, or the fact I can speak and be partially understood now, but it feels like Spain.  As an outsider, of long ago Spanish descent, and in spite of all the rallying for separatism and sayings to the contrary, there is a culture and a personality that is quintessentially Spanish and present throughout every region I have crossed, and I both love and am frustrated by aspects of it at the same time.

Sept 25 - Over the mountain to Rubiaes

Albergue yard/L Herlevi

Man with cow and sheep, Tres bicas fonte, pescadores, someone understands my attempt at Portuguese. I didn't get dessert, man points out Praying mantis to me while I'm waiting for horses to pass, the three of us take pictures.  It poses

Sept 24 - Ponte de Lima

Michel decides to walk with me, I've been having trouble with my feet, with my attitude as well...he later tells me he would prefer to walk alone, I don't blame him.  Angel dogs at my feet, my dreams of putting them in a taxi and shipping them back home, but in the end, Michel chases them off, and they head back toward where they came from.  Felt kinda' bad being mean, they were cheerful and sweet, pretending to be my dogs, which they were not.  Ave de Peru, only recognizable by the dimpled skin. I've been getting crankier, I don't remember always being quite the bitch that I've become. Am I diabetic? Low sugar? Not eating enough? (I wasn't this cranky on previous trips.) I think this is something that I need to deal with, however, I don't know if I have enough time...is this something that I absolutely need to externalize...is this who I am and am I pretending to be a nicer person, in general?  And if so, is all this internalization feeding the RA, causing my immune system to attack me, rather than taking head on the external frustrations I have (and there are many, so many I'm overwhelmed. Situations just never improve no matter how much I try...what am I supposed to do?  I feel that I am  beating my head against a wall, it's a daily battle that I am always losing...how do I not internalize the frustration?  The sudden outburst of anger on my part, frightens me in its intensity. Somethings gotta' give.)

Sept 23 - Tamal/Portela

The roads divide, I follow the gravel track to the left, sit at the church with a cat watching me, and try to decide.  Turns out both roads lead to the albergue.  While I'm walking down the stairs to go wash my laundry, a woman waves at me through the glass.  She doesn't realize that she could've walked in.  She hands me a large shopping bag full of apples.  Beautiful, perfect apples, not the leftovers picked off of the ground.  I take them into the hospitaleros.  I end up eating 3 of them, because they were a gift.  They taste wonderful, tart and juicy.  I'm usually too lazy to eat fruit.  Don't ask, makes no sense to me either, but it's the best explanation I can come up with.  I eat a lot of vegetables, and I cook them, which admittedly involves more labor, go figure.  The restaurant mentioned in the guidebook doesn't exist today, only option is a bar futher up the road a bit. I order a pizza, it looks too large to finish by myself and I try to get Michel to eat some, but I end up consuming the entire pie.

Sept 22 - Pedro Furada

Sleep on a couch in a storage room. Get up late to see Michel waving at me from his window, apparently I locked him in when I went to use the bathroom.  Locked the cat in as well. (and locked myself in the bathroom in the middle of the night and had to wake him up to let me out. Fortunately, he was a light sleeper. It was really hot in the bathroom.  He thought it was hilarious.)

Sept 21 - First day on the road

Catch metro out of town.  There is a special spring for water, lots of people filling jugs, but they move aside to allow me to get water, because I'm a peregrina?  Unsure, but they are nice.

Sept 19 and 20 - Tomar, Fatima, Oporto



Fatima/L Herlevi

All roads lead to Fatima. I wasn't sure what I would do when I woke up this morning.  Finally found the right window for a bus out of Tomar, but there is no direct way to Porto, I have to go to Fatima, seems I am being chased there one way or another.  Wander around trying to get into the churches and the old Synagogue, but they remain closed, and I remember it's Monday. 

Side of Olival Church/L Herlevi

Find an internet place across the river, near the Olival church.  I have to sign up, but am able to contact the hostel in Porto that I am going to be late. Am unable to access this account (which is why this is post trip) or any of my other accounts, save one, because my passwords are "strong" and I can't figure out how to input them on these keyboards.  When I get up to pay, the people at the front tell me it's free. Cool.

Walking back to the bus depot in Fatima,  I get really lost (this is a theme).  I end up on the outskirts of town. I go into a shop and ask for directions, but my Portuguese is really rudimentary, I don't understand.  I walk further along and sit on a bench and cry, it's hot, I'm lost and I'm carrying all of my crap with me.  I give in and retrace my steps.  See a sign for a museum that looks familiar and retrace even more to the bus stop.  I sit there for a couple of hours while I wait for the next bus to Porto.  There's nothing to do, but I don't want to get lost again and miss the bus.

Convento de Carmen/L Herlevi

It's past dusk when I arrive in Porto. The bus lets us out in a dingy garage, it's possible that it was a different entrance to Sao Bento station, but my directions make no sense when I get out to the street.  Once again I wander thinking I will find it (?) as if by some magical sense of direction in a city I've never been in before. I do not, but I walk up to a hill that I think might be the main Catedral. (It is, but I don't figure that out tonight.) Luckily, I run into a young couple, also tourists, who speak English, they don't know where we are either, but they have a map, and point me to the train station, where my written directions start from.  The directions had said the main tower landmark...there are a LOT of towers in Porto, and a lot of hills.  I make my way in the right direction, but still can't find the hostel, now it is dark out.  I must be looking lost because a man in a car drives up, rolls down the window and asks if I am looking for the Poet's Hostel, which I am, and points it out to me...I was walking down the wrong alley.  Inexpicably, I am bunked up with 4 teenage boys, who are nice, but I have to wade through their underwear to get in and out of the room.

Sept 18-Tomar

Chapter Window-Convento de Cristo

Sept 17-Lisbon



Train Station

Train arrives early in Lisbon, after crossing rough tracks in the middle of the night. I am so excited to have arrived that I hurry off of the train and into the station. While eating breakfast, I realize I've left my journal in the bed. I run back to the train, and luckily my compartment hasn't been cleaned yet and so my notebook with all my contact info in it is still there. Takes me over an hour to figure out where and how to buy a transit pass. Lock my stuff up and catch bus to Belem, my hostel doesn't open 'til 2 pm and I've got hours to kill. It's hot here, too.


Praca Commercio

I wander around Belem, it's still early and everything is closed. I'm trying to find the Torre de Belem.  I pass by a garbage and pull out the banana and contemplate throwing it in, but feel guilty about that and so peel it and try to salvage an edible part to eat and then toss the rest. Eventually, the gate opens to the tower. Shortly after, my battery dies and I run out of film, so leave to go find both and to eat lunch. I go back across town to train station to pick up my luggage (since I finally realized I could leave my stuff in "left luggage," I do it all the time now) and go back to find the hostel, which is in the same neighborhood as the Praca Commercio.  They aren't ready yet, but let me go onto another floor to shower (been a couple of 90+ days and I've been wearing the same clothes) and lock up my luggage for me.  I go back to Belem, I had bought an entrance ticket to the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos.  Both the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos and Torre de Belem are Manueline, which I think is a late gothic-style with a seafaring motif.  The Convento de Cristo and Templar Castle in Tomar are also really good examples of this style.  It's fairly specific to Portugal.

Rooster

I stand in the long, but quick moving line to try the original Pasteis de Belem, and then wander over to an underkept botanical garden (due to austerity measures resulting in staff cuts) and find this rooster.






Street Angels

Later, I check into my room and wander around the waterfront area while I wait for it to be time for dinner. (I remember having good conversations and eating a fantastic cake.) Come across these boarded up entrances painted over with angels, and stop by a port shop.  In the morning I mean to come back to the shop that sells only tinned fish, but end up taking the elevator up to Alfama district, and have to rush back to check out of hostel by noon.



Sept 16 in Madrid

Leaving Philly, it was dark and damp, making it seem much later than it actually was (4 pm.)  People have wrapped themselves up in the blankets, closed the blinds, and nodded off.  It's a wide-bodied plane, packed to the gills, and I'm in the middle seating section, though at least I have the aisle.  I keep myself awake for most of the flight, watching random tv shows.  The boy next to me doesn't get up once.

When we near Madrid in the morning, I can feel my excitement rising, like I am coming home.  I crane my neck to look out the now open blinds.  I have an open ticket to Toledo which I'm hoping to use today, but it's super hot out, and I've got hours to kill until it leaves.  I find un correo in the airport, and ship forward duffle bag and anything else I can part with, overpacked of course...really need to find a sleeping bag that packs smaller.  Was there always a post office here?  Makes life so much easier.  I attempt to jam everything into pack, no go.

Off to train station to leave my luggage.  Banana I bought in Philly is getting quite smashed, feel guilty about tossing, so throw into locker.  Leave train station, thinking that I know where I'm going, get lost, wander and wander in the heat and finally concede that I am lost and back track to train station (one of the few times I do this on this trip, not the only time I should.) Catch the metro to Atocha, miss the tour.  It's super hot, probably close to 90 F.  Duck into an open anthropology museum which is air conditioned.  It's the opening for an exhibit on Chinese (I think) porcelain stamps.  Upstairs are exhibits on the Native Americans and African tribes.  I fall asleep when I sit down on a couch, been awake for a day.  Wake up and go look at a mummy and the bones of a giant, leave to go eat something.

Later, think to go to Reina Sofia. As I'm waiting in line, read and re-read that museum is free after 7 pm.  Decide to go find Plaza Mayor and come back later.  Spend remainder of afternoon lost, somehow never finding the Plaza Mayor and when I find Gran Via, walk in direction of Prado instead of Plaza de Espana.  So go sit on grass, and watch hordes of people stream into the Prado. I think it must be some big opening, but it's free, there are hundreds of people waiting to enter. I love Spain.