INTRODUCTION

This account of my 575 mile Camino Trek is a chronological integration of the text messages and emails I sent to my wife, hand written diary entries that I later transcribed, and additional observations I added while transcribing the hand-written entries. To give the resulting text more context, I have also added links to a location guide and to the photos I took.

SOURCE GUIDE

Email transcriptions are in green front.

Mobile phone text transcriptions are in blue font.

Hand-written diary transcriptions are in black font.

Text added while transcribing the diary are in brackets in brown font.

DIARY 

from diary written on 16 April 2013, Tuesday, 9:30 p.m.

 

When I arrived at the Madrid airport (Barajas T4) on Friday, April 12, I was able to buy bus tickets to Pamplona without a hitch, after finding my way to T4 from T1 – a long way even on the airport shuttle bus. 

The 1st bus went to Soria and then I had to transfer to get to Pamplona. Arrived in Pamplona on schedule at 3:30 p.m. There were no peregrinos on the bus, and the next bus to Roncesvalles didn't leave until 6:00 p.m., so I decided to take a taxi all the way from Pamplona to Saint Jean Pied de Port, because I did not want to stay overnight in Pamplona. The taxi ride took about an hour. Arrived in SJPdeP a little after 5 p.m. The taxi driver was pleasant and talkative. He had made the run many times and pointed out various things along the way. He even walked me to the peregrino office after we arrived. 90€. It could have been more, but he drove a Prius. [The price was partially based on how much gas he used.] 

The Camino registration process went well. I got a credential booklet to receive stamps, a list of albergues along the route with phone numbers, and a sheet showing the walking elevation changes for each stage of the Camino. Then I was escorted to an albergue they picked out for me. The famous one that the guidebooks say is supposed to be a great way to begin was full, so they took me to another one further up the street. The next morning as I passed the office on my way out of town, a man working there beckoned me into the office and started to examine my backpacking gear, and called over a few of his associates to comment on its features. [I was using an Aarn Featherlite Freedom bodypack which, in addition to a backpack component, has two front pouches that attach on top to the shoulder straps on the bottom to the hip belt.]

Back to the previous night.  I took almost two hours to get organized for the next morning and then went out and got some food to take back with me to eat in the albergue kitchen/dining room. Wound up talking—actually mostly listening—to a voluble Englishman, an experienced hiker who was enjoying holding forth for three young coeds (and inexperienced hikers) from Copenhagen, He went into great detail on how to deal with blisters, showing us a pair of large needles, each of which had a think cotton string threaded through it: one to puncture the blister and collect the blister fluid as the string was pulled through, and the other to dip in iodine and pass through the deflated blister after using the first needle. I wanted to say that in my opinion one could better spend time and resources to prevent blisters, but I held my tongue because he clearly enjoyed being the expert for these young women. Before he retired to sleeping quarters he said this was his last day hiking, and he gave a ton of stuff to the women, including all his blister paraphernalia as well as some antibiotics—which the women were sensible enough to toss. Later, the next afternoon after I had finished the Route de Napoléon, I saw the young Danish women in Roncesvalles and we talked for about a half hour after dinner before I resumed hiking. One of them had already gotten a bad blister and had used the two needles as instructed. We actually had a nice conversation in Roncesvalles without the Englishman. I have one of the women some of my moleskins and told her how to use it—a bit late for the first blister but hopefully helpful for her other toes. [This was written with a bit of smugness, before I had my own blister troubles which until they occurred, I thought I was too well-prepared to get.] 

After I ate and visited with the Danish women it was only 4:30 p.m. and quite light, so I walked for another 6.5 km to Espinal. 

04/14/2013 5:43 AM 

 

Got to SJPdP late Friday afternoon and set of over the Pyrenees by 8 the next morning. It was not an easy climb. About 18 miles going uphill, often steeply uphill, with fierce winds facing against me and sometimes sideways, and then about 3 miles going steeply down hill with the wind at my back or sideways, all the way to Roncesvalles. Thank god for the poles. They saved my knees. In the end I got as far as Espinal, about 6.5 km past Roncesvalles. It´s 5 am the next morning and I´m typing this in the dark on a strange keyboard. The albergue I´m staying at has a free computer with Internet Access. I will get a SIM card later on today. You should email me in case I get free email Access again
.

04/14/2013 6:00 AM 

 

My Spanish has taken a nosedive since I´ve had to speak so much French. Anyway, I´m having a great time: no blisters and no tight muscles. You can´t believe how difficult yesterday´s trek was. There were times I had to trudge through 2.5 feet of snow and the wind was truly fierce. A week earlier and I wouldn´t have made it due to the snow. But the beauty was so intense. That alone made it worth the effort.

Last night I was in a dormitory with two Young Frenchmen and a middle-aged German. I think almost everyone who made it over the mountain yesterday stayed at Roncesvalles, but I did not want to stay in such huge crowded conditions so I went on a bit. 

4/15 4:47 p.m.    I'm now in Puente la Reina. Am all walked out for the day. 

 

17 April, Wednesday, 5:40 a.m. 

 

Was interrupted from writing last night by a Belgian named Ward who came up to talk to me. He had seen me yesterday eating a carrot in a village square at a water fountain. I always liked to stop at these places along the trail, and there are many, so I can eat lunch outdoors, rest my feet, and fill up on water.

[I wrote this after only a few days of walking. After about two weeks of walking, these public fountains became few and far between. And the weather turned cool after the first week or so, so that eating and resting in the public square became much less desirable.] He had seem me on Monday after I had bought a carrot, an apple, an orange and a bar of artisan Spanish chocolate (with chunks of apricot) for lunch. [This may have been in Lorca. The village had a charming plaza with a drinking fountain. About a block away was a small alimentación where I discovered the gourmet chocolate. I remember it being the best chocolate I had during my entire journey.] 

Last night he started telling me about himself. He is about 27 and is trying to quit smoking pot and drinking which he said were ruining his ability to function. He had been on the trail for 17 days, having started in Bordeaux.. In France they have gîtes which are similar to albergues. He said that mostly they are smaller, sleeping about ten or so people, and they treat travelers very well. They cost about the same as albergues: 10€. In one he stayed at he was the only occupant that night and they treated him like a king. 

I am writing this in Villamayor de Monjardin, on a bench outdoors facing a small children's playground consisting of a large swing, slide and hanging walk way. The albergue is situated on top of the village on a hillside near the top of a small mountain, at the very top of which sits an old castle (church?) looking wonderfully medieval and imposing. A German family is staying here. They have two small children, ages 4 – 6. The mother looks to be in her 30's, very attractive, and the father seems in his late 40's or early 50's, semi-bald with a shaven head. Both very friendly. She could speak better English than he could, but both understood English pretty well. They had started out in Pamplona and of course were not able to make as much progress as most peregrinos. The kids walked at times and were at times carried on a two-seater cart shaped like a little Smart car. It could be pulled by a harness attached to long handles in the front or pushed from a handle behind. The back wheels seemed about 22 – 24 inches in diameter and the front ones 8 – 9 inches. The mother said it worked OK over the rocky . . . (The pen I borrowed last night from the current head of the albergue volunteers, an elderly man from Holland who was there for three weeks along with two American women whom I believe are staying longer as employees, had just run out of ink, so I went into the kitchen where he was preparing the communal breakfast to borrow another one.) and rutted hilly paths, but I sure wouldn't want to be the one in the harness. 

My knee is really sore this morning. I can't go down steps or the steep slope in front of the albergue without pain. I think I'll put on the knee brace and take one of the Diclofenac Sodium tablets that Dr. Ihm prescribed, as well as some Tylenol. 

The weather yesterday was hot during the day and pleasantly mild at night. This morning it is a bit chilly, in the low 50's (F) I think.

4/17 6:11 p.m.     Stopped in Viana at 3:45. Nice albergue.

7:20 p.m.

Bought a pen to continue the diary. Ward, the Belgian I talked to last night, is also staying in Viana, where I hiked to today from Villamayor de Monjardin. But instead of staying at an albergue, he and three others—a French woman and two Italian men—rented an apartment for 12.50€ each. So far, I have heard him speak fluent Dutch, German, French and English. He mentioned last night that he had been a paramedic, a cook, and a couple of other things I can't remember, but his real passion is cooking. I hope he is able to overcome his drug habits. "Soft drugs" he calls them: marijuana and alcohol. 

I'm sitting on the roof deck of the albergue. It has a seven foot wall all around, which pretty much kills any possibility of scenic views, but I did watch a woman hanging out four throw rugs on a line in front of her top story window. 

Today I ended hiking earlier than I usually do—at about 3:45 p.m. I just didn't feel like continuing on for another 9.5 km to Logroño. This being my fourth night in an albergue, I'm beginning to get the hang of it. At the next place I think I'll try to cook my supper if a kitchen is available. I could have done it tonight, but it took watching others do it before I had the confidence to make use of this option. Basically, it just requires that a supermercado be open and that the kitchen has a bit of oil in stock, as well as a fry-pan. 

Every albergue is arranged a bit differently. Most have more than one room. There is usually a large room housing a couple dozen people, and several smaller ones containing 4 – 8 beds each. Parties traveling together are typically put in the smaller rooms. Men and women were not separated in three of the albergues I've experienced. People just make due, being as modest as they can. This albergue has only one bathroom complex. Each shower stall and toilet within the complex is behind a locked door while the sinks are in the common area. [These observations, made less than a week into the trek, don't do justice to the variety of albergue buildings, layouts, and facilities, as well as the multiple ways they are operated and managed. Every time I thought I had finally gotten a pretty good feel for the typical albergue, I would be surprised by another new feature or characteristic. About the only common denominators are that they are between 5€ and 10€—or free—and have a stamp which every peregrino wants to have in their certificate booklet.

Today was really hot and sunny. I've been careful not to overexpose my face, arms, or legs, but completely overlooked my hands. Getting a sunburned hand never occurred to me, but it sure can (and did) happen. I think I'll go try to find a small tube of sunscreen, otherwise my left hand, the one always exposed to the sun as I travel west, is going to burn up.

4/18 7:01 a.m.    It's morning. I'm off. 

4/18 4:03 p.m.    Just arrived at Ventosa. Off to wash up up and eat

 

18 April, Thursday, 5:30 p.m. 

 

5:30 just turned to 6:00 as I began talking with a party of four—a retired man from Switzerland, and a young man and two middle-aged women from Germany. Earlier in the day I passed a party of five, consisting of a young boy, his father, the father's parents, and the boy's great grandmother: four generations from Australia walking the Camino. [The boy was walking/skipping between his grandparents while their son, the boy's father, was walking with his grandmother about 15 feet behind.] 
 

The retired man from Switzerland said it was crazy and wonderful, adding that walking the Camino is crazy and wonderful in itself. 

Ken "the Google guy" arrived here about the same time I did. Last night as I was wondering around Viana I came across him and Pete from Ireland, a 65 year old retired man from Ireland I had met at the albergue in Puenta la Reina. Peter had persuaded Ken to eat at a gourmet restaurant recommended by the Priestly guide. They were in the middle of a veritable feast when I joined them. I had already eaten, but one thing about us peregrinos is that we can always eat more, so I had a couple of tapas. One, which the waiter recommended, was anchovies on bread. It was truly fabulous. It had a sweetly soft texture and was not salty at all. Then we ordered and shared deserts. And all the while they insisted on plying me with wine because they were on their second bottle and were having trouble finishing it. 

Ken's daughter goes to Evergreen and loves it. I told him to ask his daughter if she knows Peter. Next time we meet I must ask him her name and tell Peter I saw her father on the Camino. [I corresponded with Peter about this in June and he told me he had not had her in any of his classes.] 

It was nice to have some gourmet food for a change. I had been living on pre-packaged atún pasta "salads" from the supermercado, along with apples, oranges, carrots and the occasional chocolate bar or pastry. 

My routine is to have a decent sized breakfast and eat a little bit every few hours along the road, and then have a large dinner. It works out well for me to eat often and lightly during the day. There are plenty of bars/cafés along the way that will let one use their toilet, but one is then expected to be a customer. On such occasions I usually order a tortilla or jamón with bread. 

Well, it's now 6:30 and the restaurant is open so I'm off to have a big meal.

4/18 9:05 p.m.     Peregrino menu with a table of fellow pilgrims. Wonderful.

9:15 p.m. 

Back in the common room of the albergue.

4/19 7:56 p.m.    Evening in Santo Domingo

 

19 April, Friday, 8:05 p.m.

I can't believe it's been a week. Today we had our first rain. The day started out in the 40's (F) with a light rain. The rain became intermittent but the temperature hardly rose, and the wind picked up. Fine for walking, but not so good for resting outdoors. 

These past two days I've fallen into a rhythm, starting walking at 7:30 – 8:00 and going to about 3:30 – 4:00, resting for 10-15 minutes 2 or 3 times. It is a nice leisurely pace that allows me to go 18 – 20 miles without straining. There seems to be a group of us that keeps this same average daily distance, but each one does it at his or her own pace and rhythm. 

I've met two triathletes and a woman with bad such bad tendons she had to walk slowly, take small steps and stop often. There are all varieties of physical health and capabilities, each person walking at their own pace. 

Tonight I went to the supermercado and got a large package of frozen veggies with bacon. I took it back to the albergue where I was able to buy a small bottle of olive oil from a vending machine for 70€, which I used to fry the veggie/bacon mixture. It was a large portion and at first I didn't think I could eat it all, but I did and was still hungry. 

Just then Ward; Joe, a marathon runner from California whose name I can't recall, and two Italians walked in and began preparing two pasta dishes. Ward has been a chef and one of the Italians is a good cook, so I watched them prepare their dishes: 

Ward's: (not sure what it's called) 
             onions
             olives
             anchovies
             basil
             curly pasta 

The Italian's: (carbonara)  
             spaghetti
             chunks of ham
             eggs
             Parmesan cheese

This last dish was simply fabulous. Oil was added to the cooking pasta to keep it from sticking. When it was done, the water was drained and ham which had been frying was stirred in. A bit of boiling water was added to again keep the pasta from sticking. Then he broke two eggs into the pasta and stirred, putting the mixture back on the heat. Then he added some Parmesan, then another egg, and kept stirring vigorously. Ward said that most people use cream but the "real" way to do this dish is with eggs. 

They invited me and several other people to eat with them. I surprised myself by snarfing down generous portions of each dish, topped off by wine other people contributed. As I am writing this the party around the Kitchen table is still going on. . . . 

I just got interrupted by a Canadian couple from Newfoundland I met the other day at a public water fountain. He had climbed Annapurna, so he found this trek generally much easier, although the Camino was harder on his feet because the surfaces are so uneven and rocky. Also staying at this albergue is the German/Swiss party I ate with last night. Time to rejoin the party. . . . [The Italian who cooked the carbonara was quite the ladies man. One of the women whom they invited to share the meal was the person who had very bad tendons and walked very slowly. She was in her 30's and very attractive. The Italian, feigning an ability to read palms, took her hand, placed it on his thigh, and proceeded to "read"her palm as he very gently stroked her hand and arm. She in turn was flirtatious and reveled in the attention. Later, after quite a bit of wine had flowed, she and I had quite an intense conversation about our respective challenges walking the Camino.]

 

20 April, Saturday, 4:15 p.m.

Arrived in Villafranca Montes de Oca at 4:00. After walking past hillside vineyard fields for the past week, today I saw no grape cultivation. I must have left wine country behind . . . 

Just finished talking with Jonathan and Tom, a retired couple from from Vermont who wanted to go on a long walk beautiful walk without camping out. 

These past two days have brought out my absentmindedness. Yesterday morning, one of the walking sticks I took on the way out of the albergue was not mine. I did not discover my mistake until after I had walk about seven kilometers and off-loaded my gear at a bar/café in the next town. As I leaned my poles against the wall I noticed that one was considerably shorter and obviously not mine. By a stroke of good fortune, several hours later I caught up to the person whose stick I had taken by mistake, so at least I made him whole. The albergue manager had given him a spare when he found his own was missing, which he then gave to me. It's a piece of shit, but with a little help from Ward, who had more upper arm strength than me, it got tight enough so that the adjustable length mechanism did not keep slipping. [In subsequent days, however, it began to slip again, and I soon realized that no matter how tightly it was turned, the mechanism would just not grip tightly enough to withstand all the pounding that the stick had to take, and it would keep on slipping, making the stick get shorter and shorter.  About a week later it occurred to me to wrap the mechanism with some of the duct tape I had brought with me. After that, the stick slipped only about a quarter of an inch, scrunching up the duct tape somewhat, and then it stabilized and never shorted after that. One should never leave home without duct tape.]

This morning I left a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo at the albergue, so I will get another bar of soap at the supermercado when it opens at 5:00 p.m. (after siesta). . . . It's now 5:00 so I'm off to set soap and take a shower.

 

04/20/2013 9:30 PM

It´s late and I have just a few minutes on the computer. Things are going well, but I got a blood blister today. That´s the Camino.

 

04/21/2013 8:21 PM

It´s been a long day. Arrived at the municipal albergue in Burgos dead tired at 6:30 p.m.. After showering and washing my clothes it is now 8:10 and I still need to eat. I´m really famished. I´ve been humbled regarding blisters. Thought I had it all figured out, but now I think the only way to walk this rugged road as many miles as I do in a day without getting blisters is to wrap every toe before even beginning the trek. So far I´ve gotten two blood blisters and one ´regular´ blister. From all accounts, feet problems are the one universal of the Camino. 

The municipal albergue is like a large dormitory hotel. It´s got six floors [and an elevator!], with dormitory rooms and facilities on all of them. The city center looks very inviting, but I´m afraid I will have little time to explore it. It took walking for about 7 miles through a boring industrial landscape to get here, but it is quite old and charming. 

For two days until this morning, there were trail signs giving a count down of the number of kilometers to Santiago. It was really annoying. [575 km, 574 km, 573 km—I mean, really.] Thank god they are no longer present. The phrase "Are we there yet" kept going through my head. [There is one commonality to Camino signage along the whole route: a yellow arrow. In addition to the ubiquitous yellow arrow, each Province, and even many municipalities, use unique markers. Most likely, the pesky kilometer markers were a feature of La Rioja Province and ceased to exist once I crossed over into Burgos Province.] 

In addition to food, I have to get some dental floss. I left mine at the last albergue. I can´t tell you how many things . . .

22 April, Monday, 6:00 p.m.

Laying in bed cuddled up in my sleeping bag. I really long to give my feet a rest. I've removed all the bandages to give the blisters air to heal. 

Arrived in Hontanas after starting out from Burgos at 8:30 this morning. I was the last person to depart the municipal albergue. And it's the Hontanas municipal albergue I checked into this evening. I'm growing fond of municipal albergues. The ones I've stayed at have cost 5€, have good facilities, and are clean. 

I've given up taking precautions to avoid getting bed bugs. It's just too time-consuming. Since giving up on the extra care, I am able to get organized at about the same speed as your typical peregrino.

The terrain has changed dramatically. Mesas and low sweeping hills dominated in today's walk.

I signed up for the community dinner at the albergue. They are serving a pilgrim menu with paella. We'll see. I had a bit of paella in a restaurant in Burgos and it was pretty mediocre. A pilgrim menu typically costs between 9€ and 12€ and consists of a good sized appetizer, a main dish, desert, and water or wine. 

The bar/restaurant ecosystem along the Camino: the pilgrims are provided with toilet facilities and in return they are expected to buy something. In a bar, as long as the pilgrim buys something, he is allowed to break out any other nourishment, and eat or drink it along with the item purchased. 

I think I'll do some stretching before supper. I didn't get a chance to do so before I left Burgos. It was too cool outside to stop to stretch along the trail, which is my preferred option. I like this cool cloudy weather for walking, but not for taking an outdoor break or just stopping to admire the scene. [And none of the albergue were heated, which is why I curled up in my sleeping bag in Hontanas. After the weather turned cool, I had to bundle up once I stopped walking and checked into an albergue.]

4/23 9:48 a.m.    Omelet with wild mushrooms in Castrojeriz.

[I stopped at a bar to get something to eat, and a guy just getting up from the counter told me I should get the Tortilla with setas, that it was really delicious. He was pointing to a Tortilla with mushrooms. When the bar tender came in, I told him I wanted the Tortilla con setas. He replied that the fellow who just left must have told me about the Tortilla because most non-Spanish speakers would have referred to champiñones because they wouldn't have known the word setas. I acknowledged that he had. He then proceeded to tell me that he had just picked the mushrooms this morning and that they were particular to this region of Spain. The omelet was the best I had during my entire trek.}

 

23 April Tuesday, 8:55 p.m.

sitting in a bar to keep warm after a long day's walk of 36 km from Hontanas to Frómista. I can hear the steam from the espresso machine heating up my hot chocolate. . . . Bueno, y más caliente. 

Question: What do noses, lips and the back of the left had all have in common? Answer: They get very sunburned after walking west in northern Spain for a week. 

The night before last, in Burgos, I assisted a Florida bicyclist who was changing the dressing on a leg wound. She had taken a spill earlier in the day that required six stitches. She was quite upset, and told me that she'd "lost it" after a mean and officious albergue attendant told her she could not stay a second night because she was capable of walking. This evening she appeared with her riding partner at the Frómista municipal albergue where I'm staying. She had stayed at a hotel last night to let her wound heal. 

Today on . . . my chocolate tart and tea just came . . . the Camino I kept hearing cuckoo birds. [That was the first time. I continued to hear them every day throughout the rest of the trip.]

Today I said goodbye to the young Korean woman I had such an interesting conversation with last night. She had quit her job as an anesthesiologist and did a one month stint with Doctors Without Borders in Northern Nigeria. Now she's walking the Camino with friends. ("With" can be an ambiguous word on the Camino. Often people walking together agree where they are going to stay and then each get's there at his or her own pace. Others, however, do walk together—more or less—all the way.) She took a side trip to Bilbao. This upset the young Spanish man who was also participating in the conversation I had with her today. He felt it was somehow "breaking the rules" to do such a thing. But as far a she was concerned, there are no Camino rules. 

Today I walked for a bit with Ester, and we agreed to have a bite to eat together. She's a Renfe receptionist in Barcelona. We ate in Boadilla del Camino, where she decided to call it a day while I went on to Frómista. (You know you're an old man when a young woman treats you to a meal.) I had hopes of finding an open pharmacy in Frómista. I had been seeking one for several days. I had no luck finding one in Burgos because I arrived there on a Sunday night. However, it turns out that today is a fiésta day. Will David ever get his dental floss and ear plug lubricant? Don't go away: we'll be right back. [I did eventually get some dental floss, but the quality was annoyingly crappy. It kept fraying and breaking and came in pieces that were so short that once a piece broke, you had to toss it and begin again with a new piece. I never did find any lubricant for my ear plugs.] 

Frómista image: sitting in the large plaza in front of the Cathedral watching kids and their parents kicking around a soccer ball. One of the kids was between 2 and 3 and was trying to participate. He kept chasing after the ball, but never quite managed to catch up to it. 

People I met today: a Finn who doesn't speak Finnish (Apparently 5% of Finns grow up speaking Swedish rather than Finnish.); an Irishman; many Brits, Danes and Germans; Muchas Españolas; and on and on. 

There are two Frenchmen who look to be in their late forties or early fifties who have been staying night after night at the same albergue as I have been. We don't talk much but they seem like old friends. The three of us have walked beyond all the others we've met during the past week or so. They have a much different walking pace than I do, but we eventually cover the same distance every day. They like coffee and beer and always eat in restaurants rather than do their own cooking. One of them wears jeans. In fact, a lot of European pilgrims wear jeans—but Americans never. 

It's 9:52. Time to get back to the albergue before they lock the doors. [The two Frenchmen and I continued to play leap frog and keep up with each other. For about ten more days their intermittent presence was one of the constancies of my journey. Then on the climb to Cebreiro on May 3, I had to slow up after straining a tendon. I never saw them again after that.]

 

24 April, Wednesday, 4:05 p.m.

I'm soothing my disappointment in a bar in Carrión de los Condes. At about 2:45 p.m. I found a pharmacy where I bought some dental floss and was given a free sample of sunscreen, and then stopped at a bar on my way out of town, only to realize that I had left my sticks at the pharmacy. By the time I found my way back, the place had closed for siesta. Since I now have to wait until 5:00 p.m. for the pharmacy to re-open, and since it's 17 km to the next town, I've had to give up my plans to lodge in Calzadilla de la Cueza this evening. I'm bummed out about this. Never mind that my right hip bone and my feet hurt. I nevertheless feel thwarted by my own forgetfulness. And I'm tired of staying in albergues. I don't think I've gotten more than one good night's sleep since SJPdP. It's so noisy, the beds are too small for me and I'm tired of sharing very limited bathroom facilities with very limited privacy. 

Also having to store everything in my backpack in such a nuisance. I spend so damn much time and energy unpacking, packing, unpacking, etc. whenever I need something, because the only place to put anything is in the backpack. It's all such a hassle. 

And my jaw hurts something terrible. It's painful to eat anything but soft food. Even a chocolate bar causes pain. I thought I had the teeth grinding problem under control, but it seems I don't. 

O woe is me! I just want all the pain to go away. . . . 

Ester popped in the bar as I was wading my sorrows. I'll probably see her tonight at the communal dinner. 

The walking was rather boring today, which made my hip pain all that much worse. According to my maps, it looks like it will be flat until past León.

04/24/2013 5:00 PM 

I think the blisters are under control, knock on wood, but this trip is not easy on my feet.

4/25 9:50 p.m.    Cooked a great salmon stir-fry in Sahagún. Doing better today.

 

25 April, Thursday, 10:05 p.m.

In a bar in Sahagún indulging my addiction to Spanish hot chocolate. It's steam-heated milk infused with lots of cocoa mix. Some, like the one I'm drinking, is thick with cocoa mix. The ultimate hot chocolate, I've decided, definitely requires an espresso machine. But the quality of the resulting drink still requires a good cocoa mix. The one I had last night was excellent. The one I'm drinking now is thick but the cocoa mix is low quality and too sugary. [I subsequently learned that corn starch is added to make the mixture thick. Some places serve hot cocoa with the consistency of pudding. Others use less cornstarch and the consistency is consequently less thick.] 

I'm doing much better today. My various aches and pains are still present but more manageable than yesterday. I walked from 6:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. with breaks every 5-10 km for food, foot renewal, and relieve from bone rubbing. I had a wonderful bowl of noodle consumé that the server said his mother made—a bit of heaven. 

Encountered a loud redneck peregrino from Florida yesterday and today. Thank goodness I finally out-walked him. 

Lots of wild thyme along the rural roads here. I tasted a very tart variety and later and a sweeter lemony one. The cuckoo birds sing everywhere along the route these days. 

I encountered the sympathique Englishman and his wife at the albergue again today. They had taken a bus here because his wife was injured. They will be quitting the Camino, her to recuperate and him to be with her. 

My hot cocoa "pudding" is all gone—all two cups of it. At my request the bartender gave me the left over portion of the drink which literally doubled the amount I would otherwise had received. It's 10:30 p.m. so I'd better get back to the albergue. Last night I got back a half hour late and the door was locked. Fortunately there was somebody hanging around outside with the key to deal with irresponsible pilgrims such as myself.

04/26/2013 8:38 PM 

I´m in Mansilla de las Mullas tonight. I took the alternative Calzadilla route to get here. I was tired of walking along the highway. It was your kind of landscape. Flat to gently rolling hills along farmland with the snow-capped Pyrenees visible in the distance. But 24 km without a city is a long trek. And while I love the idea of walking along an old Roman road, the reality is pretty hard on the feet. At this point I´d be happy never to encounter another Roman road the rest of my life. It is now only 17km to Leon. I think I am going to treat myself to a hostel tomorrow and do some sightseeing for the rest of the day.

26 April, Friday, 8:50 p.m.

I'm sitting in the kitchen of the Mansilla de las Mullas municipal albergue. There's a large group of Italians who are singing merrily and vigorously. 

Last night in Sahagún I went to a Panadería to get some pastry. I studied the choices behind the glass and one of them looked intriguing. I asked the woman what it was and she said it was cream filled and very good and that it was made by her sister. I ate it for desert after the dinner I cooked. It was unbelievably good. Both the cream filling and the outer shell were of a quality I've never had before. It's one of the best pastries I've ever had: everything about it was perfect. On my way out of town this morning I stopped in to get another, but they were all sold out and the woman's sister hadn't finished baking another batch. 

I was tired of walking along the highway so I took an alternate route today. The day was mostly cloudy, and late in the afternoon it turned blustery. Old Roman roads are wonderful to look at and to contemplate, but sucky to walk on. I saw a large white bird with a long neck and a black backend. 

Since it's only 17 km to León, I’m going to try to arrive in early afternoon tomorrow, check into a hostal [In Spain hostals are low-cost hotels in which has shared bathrooms.] and do some sightseeing. I consulted my map guide and decided to stay at Puerta del Sol, which seemed modestly priced but centrally located. I need a break from long days of hiking and nights of dormitory living. And I'll be able to sleep in after an uninterrupted night's sleep—something I've not had in the two weeks I've been on the road. 

Like a dog marking its territory, I keep leaving things along the way to mark my presence. My last roll of toilette paper is sitting in the bathroom of the bar I ate in late this morning. The two pens I picked up along the way to replace the ones I lost are themselves sitting God-know-where.

 

27 April, Saturday, 7:25 a.m.

I slept an uninterrupted 9 hours and feel logy but renewed. Last night I felt really low energy and on the verge of succumbing to my lung malady. Now I think I've dodged it. But today I will take it slow and easy. 

2:10 p.m. 

Just ordered lunch at La Trattoria, an Italian restaurant in Plaza Major. I'm the only patron in what appears to be a large multi-room stone and brick cavern converted to a dining room. The waiter just brought a bottle of Solan de Cabras agua and a glass of olives. [The restaurant was quite popular. I was the only patron because 2:10 is quite early for lunch, which usually begins at 3:00 in this part of Spain.]

The olives remind me that a few days ago I spoke with a Spaniard whose father owns an olive grove. (This was the same fellow who thought that the Korean woman was cheating when she took a side trip to Bilbao.) I learned that there are two basic types of trees: those whose olives are squeezed for their oil and those whose olives are processed for eating. One cannot distinguish them by the trees alone. Most olives are grown for oil. 

I'm sitting alone on a very cushy couch at a table for two wishing I could be sharing this with Barbara. The waiter just brought bread and bread sticks in a burlap bag. My jaw pain has subsided enough for me to enjoy the wonderfully fresh, crisp and chewy Italian bread. The waiter just brought the first course. I'm in food heaven.

MENÚ SÁBADO

PRIMERO: Timbal de verduras y queso de calbra al pimenton

SECONDO: Brocheta de temera, champiñones y reineta

Pan

Agua

POSTRE Tiramisu

18,20€ Definitely a much better value than the mediocre menus peregrinos I've had along the Camino for 10€ - 12€. 

Walking from Mansilla de las Mullas this morning I felt exhausted. Every bit of my body seemed to be rebelling from the treatment I've given it these past . . . second course arrived: veal on a skewer with mushrooms and pinapples and sliced potatoes on the side . . . two weeks. I just longed to be at rest. As soon as I entered the city I made a beeline for the hostal I'd picked out. I found the area soon enough, but could not locate the hostal. I wandered into Plaza Major, a large square close by with an open air market. thinking that maybe the hostel was within the square. I didn't see it, but I did see a small and modern hotel at the edge of the square. I wandered in to ask the receptionist where Puerta del Sol was. The lobby had a touch of marble elegance, and I thought to myself, this would be a nice place to stay. The receptionist pointed me back to the area I had just come from. Before I left I asked the price of a room. It was about twice that of the hostal but still pretty reasonable: 70€. 

I again looked for a Puerta del Sol sign on the street where it was supposed to be according to the map, but saw nothing. I entered a nearby small but elegant tea shop and asked them where the place was. She escorted me outside and pointed to an unmarked door a few fee down the street and said that that was the entrance—that I should ring the bell and I would be buzzed in. I followed her instructions and found myself inside a small landing in front of a long narrow stair case shrouded in semi-darkness. As I began ascending, became aware of a musty and very unattractive odor. I said to myself "I just can't do this", and descended the stairs and emerged back into the street of fresh air and drizzle. Five minutes later, a few minutes past noon, I was back in the charming modern hotel checking in. Good choice, David. 

I have rarely used lip balm, but after getting cracked and sunburned lips after a week of walking, I started using the tiny tube I had picked up at some ALA Conference who knows how many years ago. Thank you, AAAS: your little handout has soothed and restored my lips. The postre just came and was quickly gone. Tiramisu. 

Full. Feeling lazy and relaxed. The only thing that could motivate me to move is sex. No luck, so I'll just sit awhile. Ever since I entered the converted cavern, delightful jazz music has been emanating from a little speaker in a corner near the high ceiling.  After ten minutes of blissful repose, I was offered coffee. I couldn't refuse. In fact I had been secretly hoping to partake of this, for me, rare pleasure. Perhaps it will motivate me to get up off this obscenely comfortable couch. Had it. Didn't work. 

Seems like an inappropriate time to complain, but my still sore ears are reminding me of how the ear plugs I took along with me caused a bad pain in my ears, which still lingers in my right ear. Form fitted ear plugs seemed like a good idea to get through nights in dormitories of snorers, but after the first week or so the pain built to the point where snoring was the lesser condition to endure. The plugs worked great during concerts back in the States, but all-nighters are too much to endure with any comfort. Last night in Mansilla de las Mullas was pure bliss: nobody snored and I slept like a babe for nine hours. [After getting back home I discovered that the plugs I had obtained were made for use during the day, but not for sleeping. I subsequently bought a pair designed for sleeping and I found they are fairly comfortable.]

It's 4:00 p.m.  Time to end this writing and reverie.

4/27 7:39 p.m.   In nice hotel in Leon getting needed rest and pampering self with 
                          bath and good food.  I'm too tired and it's too cold for sightseeing.

 

28 April, Sunday, 11:05 a.m.

Waiting in my hotel room for La Trattoria to open, which I'm told will be at noon. At 7:30 I was all packed and ready to eat breakfast and leave, until I discovered that breakfast didn't begin until 8. At first I was bummed out, but then I realized I was stiff and logy, and that some stretching would do me good. The breakfast was one of those elegant spreads with an infinite variety from every food group. After having my fill and doing final packing, I realized my cell phone was missing. I must have left it in the restaurant yesterday. On inquiring, I found it didn't open until noon. 

To kill time I began wandering around León's center. The big Gothic cathedral was closed but the smaller Romanesque Basilica de San Isidora was open so I wandered in and found a chapel with a few people seated expectantly. I sat down also and a few minutes later, after more congregants had arrived, a priest emerged and began conducting a service. Only the priest had a prayer book, but the congregants all knew when to join in singing or respond with "amen." The service was in Spanish. The congregants each came up to receive a wafer (except me) but only the priest drank the wine. A half hour after it began, it was over.

By this time, the Cathedral de León was open, so I went in. It was quite dramatic inside, with brilliantly alive stained glass windows, but I didn't wander through because they were charging admission—and I'll be damned if I'm going to pay to look inside a church. So I went back to the hotel, had more breakfast and wrote in my diary. 

[At 11:30 I went back to La Trattoria to get my cell phone. They were just putting chairs and tables out on the square and getting set up to serve drinks. The first person I asked didn't know of any cell phone left behind and went to ask someone else, who came back saying that, yes, there was an abandoned cell phone which had been put away for safe keeping. He started looking for it, and soon had two other people hunting as well—to no avail. Finally he tried to call the manager, because it was the manager who had put the cell phone away for safe keeping, but couldn't reach him. About a half hour later the manager showed up with the appropriate key and unlocked the door where he had stored the cell phone.  Having finally been made whole again, I was off by about 12:15.]

 

29 April, Monday, 5:35 p.m.

Sitting in a bar in Astorga all bundled up trying to get warm. After walking for 7 hours in cold windy weather I need a warm cozy place to recuperate. I checked into the municipal albergue only to learn that the manager has refused to turn on the heat. What a cheapskate. He should be ashamed of himself. The staff said they will ask him again when he shows up at 6:00. Here's hoping. 

The walk today from Villar de Mazarife was an especially beautiful mixture of rural landscape (with snow-capped mountains in the distance) and small villages with their multi-textured walls that spoke of generations of changing brick and stone usage. 

Today I walked past a peregrino harnessed to a cart carrying his belongings. I had also passed him two days ago. 

This walk continually reminds me of my age and various maladies. I know I'm in good physical condition for my age, but my bad knee and lack of youthful balance makes me want to return to that lost feeling of youth. I miss it. 

Today at one of the bar pit-stops I tried to order the usual slice of pre-made tortilla potata and instead got a huge freshly cooked one with sliced green peppers and tomatoes on the side, all of which was preceded by toast with honey. It tasted great, but was way too much food, so I packed up 2/3 of it, which I finished about a half hour ago. I was so taken aback at its low cost (4€) that I also ordered a piece of home made cake sitting on the counter. She cut off such a huge chunk I could hardly believe it. It too lasted until a half hour ago. It reminded me of the Amish cake B used to bake. I wonder if the culture is being passed around in Chicago and how one can get some. 

The bar I'm sitting in has no peregrinos, just two tables of local guys playing a card game. One of the players is the bartender, and I had to wait until the hand was over before he prepared my tea. I came across a similar scene in a village bar earlier in the day. 

Last night I stuck my only euro coin in the vending device attached to the computer in the albergue and wrote B an email expressing my thoughts on Z's plans to stay with us this summer. Suddenly I was alerted I had 40 seconds left, so I ended writing and pressed "send." I was greeted with a request to log into my webmail account again. I was able to do so and press send just as my time terminated. When I logged back into my account at the albergue earlier this evening, I saw that no message had been sent. It had gone poof in the ether. So annoying. And even though computer use with Internet access is free in the albergue I'm in tonight, it is so damn cold there I can't stand it long enough to spend more than five minutes using the computer.

I just noticed on my map that there is a Bishops Palace designed by Gaudi in town. I'm off to take a look.

 

30 April, Tuesday, 5:55 p.m.

Trying to keep warm in the Domus Dei albergue in Foncebadón. It rained all day. As I was in the last ascent to Foncebadón the rain turned to sleet. It's now snowing out. As the coal stove in the hallway began to get low, the albergue volunteer at the entrance checking in people asked me if I played chess. He retrieved a small chess set from the living room cabinet and we played two games, both of which I won because I was just a bit less worse a player than he was. 

After the chess games I managed to get the seat next to the one electric space heater at the end of the dining room table, where I am writing this. I don't ever want to move from this spot. The bedroom is vast and it's below freezing outside. Last I checked the tiny space heater that was valiantly but ineffectively trying to penetrate the frigid air of the bedroom has been removed. 

The attractive young Spanish woman traveling with three Italians whom I kept meeting these past few days are also here, as is the Italian fellow who pulls his luggage by cart. I keep seeing him, and we keep winding up staying in the same place. 

As far as I'm concerned, the old (and formerly true) cliché about Germans being more organized, cleaner, neater and up earlier than everyone else just isn't true any more—no matter what their age.

Some of the stone villages I walked through today are quite wonderful. Some of the stone fences and walls were obviously built by master craftsmen a long time ago. 

For the past few days I encountered on-an-off an elderly fellow from New Zealand with a bushy white mustache. He wears shorts over bright tights and a has very cool looking beige leather Australian cowboy hat. He was pretty slow going uphill because he has a heart condition. But as he put it, "But I'm alive and enjoying every minute." 

Atmosphere be damned. Tomorrow I will stay at a well-heated albergue. The communal meal is about to be served. 

8:05 p.m.

The communal meal is over. Both the communal dinner and communal breakfast are funded by the donation peregrinos give when they check in (in lieu of a fee). I think some peregrinos were less than generous because the communal dinner consisted of a plate of spaghetti with a hint of tomatoes and tuna—but hardly more than a hint—served with bread, and accompanied by an orange. I'm still hungry. 

1 May, Wednesday, 9:00 p.m. 

Some clichés remain relevant. For the second time during the walk I was thwarted in my attempt to shop for food because today is a holiday. This in addition to the siesta-time closing of the shops, and of course Sunday unavailability. 

[When I first arrived at the albergue in Ponferrada and had put my gear away, I went to the bathroom, only to discover that there was no toilette paper. After dump and using the supply of toilette paper I always carried with me, I went to one of the attendants and tried to tell him that there was no toilette paper in the bathroom. I didn't know the Spanish phrase for toilette paper, but I still thought I was making myself quite clear. He just gave me a sly smile, doing nothing and not saying a word. I finally walked away in exasperation. But I had encountered this identical reaction several times before in similar situations, so this time I decided to learn how to ask properly. After consulting the Spanish/English dictionary on my mobile phone, I returned to the attendant and said, "No hay papel higienico en el baño." He immediately got up and retrieved some toilette paper. No hay papel higienico became the most useful Spanish phrase of my entire trip, one that I had occasion to use more times than I can remember.]

After eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich to stave off starvation, I discovered one little place that was open despite the holiday. So I bought a few veggies and a bottle of olive oil, which I will donate to the albergue after using. 

For the past several days I've had a nasty pain in my right ear during the night. Today, after I arrived in Ponferrada, which is a fair-sized city, I set out to find a doctor. An attendant at the albergue gave me the address of the city's medical center (ambulotorio) so despite being tired and cold I walked 1.5 miles to the medical center to be seen by a doctor. After learning that I didn't have a Spanish or European identity card, the attendant didn't quite know what to do with me, so he wrote my passport number in his log book and asked me to take a seat. . . . 

Just spoke with a woman from Cape Town while waiting for the doctor—the only person I've met on the Camino from either Africa or Latin America (except for the volunteer I played chess with at Foncebadón: he was from the Dominican Republic). She is living on a Greek island because she was attached twice in Cape Town and couldn't stand it any longer, so she went back to her native Greece. . . 

Within five minutes the doctor called me in his office and checked my ear with one of those ear-peering contraptions. He drew me a picture indicating I had something in my ear canal and he prescribed a liquid he wanted me to put two drop of into my ear every eight hours for five days. He wouldn't take any money. I left to seek out a drug store to fulfill the prescription. After about 30 minutes I found what was probably the only open farmacia in town (due to it being a holiday) and got the prescription filled. Hope it works. 

Today's walk was extraordinarily beautiful, breathtaking and variegated. For about 2.5 hours beginning at 7:30 a.m. I was walking across the top of a snow-covered mountainous landscape. It didn't get above freezing until I began to descend around 10:30. For three hours I walked through a white-coated scene of fresh snow that I believe was formed almost entirely from frozen dew. I found it light as air and pleasant-tasting—a kind of pure wetness—when I leaned forward to take a mouthful from a spruce tree branch.

After descending the heights, I walked on a path that skirted the mountains about half way up. Every five minutes I found myself walking through a new spectacular view. Then passed through three of the most charming villages I have ever encountered: Acebo, Riego de Ambrós and Molinaseca. Time for bed. Obligatory lights out. 

2 May, Thursday, 7:50 p.m. 

I stretched myself to go to Vega de Valcarse because it looked like a pretty substantial pueblo on my map guide: two albergues were listed. The reality [or so I thought at the time] is that only the parish albergue was open and the village is pretty small. The albergue has no heat and no kitchen facilities, which in this place seems no disadvantage because there is no food store. [Shortly after I checked in, however, a truck pulled into the lot alongside the albergue and immediately a few locals came up to it. Turns out it was a food truck that goes from village to village, serving as a roving grocery store, but without fresh produce. I was able to get a couple of small yogurts for breakfast.] After showering and clothes washing, I ate the left-overs from my previous bar stop, which consisted of half a choriso bogadillo and half a tortilla patata slice.

I just finished a chocolata at the local bar while waiting for dinner I ordered, which is now being delivered . . .

 

3 May, Friday, 9:00 p.m.

In a bar in Hospital da Condesa. 

Another magnificently beautiful walk, still following the river. Yesterday and part of today was like walking in Vermont, complete with piles of logs on the roadside waiting to be transported to the sawmill, and beautiful and healthy-looking brown cows with bells on hillsides. 

Got a late start (9 a.m.) and spent half the day climbing out of the valley up into the mountains, and the other half traversing the mountain range near the top of it. Tomorrow I will descend from these mountains.

My ear has stopped bothering me, but I will continue to take the prescribed drops religiously for three more days. On the long ascent today to Cebreiro my right Achilles tendon began hurting, and by the end of the day each small step was painful. This sort of tendon problem is new to me, and I didn't expect it. Realistically, I think I must walk much slower and take much shorter steps from here on. 

[For the past couple of days I have been traveling on-and-off with Arthur and Nellie—sometimes with one of them, sometimes with both. Arthur is an Englishman who likes to take very leisurely meals and walk at a measured pace, but he also puts in quite long walking days. Once while I was coming up behind him, I noticed that he had missed a faded yellow arrow pointing to the right, and was continuing on straight ahead. So I called out and alerted him to the change in direction. The Camino is like that.]

Andrew's daughter is two days overdue. Spent more time today with Nellie, a Dutch woman who is walking the Camino alone because she wants to test herself and gain competency. She hes always traveled with her husband who makes all the arrangements and decisions. We really hit it off together. Ate dinner with a guy from Hungary and met a young Indian woman and a young Bangladeshi man, both of whom were living in Britain. Time to turn in.

5/4 5:19 p.m.    At bar in Furela.

05/04/2013 9:35 PM 

I have not had access to a computer for a few days. I am writing this from Sarria, so I will be in Santiago within a week, hopefully. I think I may be coming down with a cold. Today I really overdid it because I had to walk extra km because all the albergues were filled. Yesterday, while going up the last big assent of the walk, I think I sprained my right Achilles tendon. I am now walking very slowly, especially on level and ascending grades, so my heel doesn´t hurt too much. I think my average speed has fallen to about 2 miles per hour. I am walking very carefully so as not to aggravate the tendon. Otherwise all is well. The environment today was very much like southern Vermont, really beautiful and charming.

5 May, Sunday, 8:00 p.m.

I'm in the municipal albergue in Portomarin, having showered, washed, cooked and eaten. Feeling wiped out. 

Yesterday's walk really did me in. Starting in Hospital da Condesa, I decided to go beyond Triacastela.  The walk up to Triacastela was like Southern Vermont, only with thousand-year-old stone villages. Even some of the vegetation was the same: wild raspberries, fern and Queen Anne's Lace. It remained wonderfully beautiful up to Aguiada, where I had intended to stop. Even that was a real stretch, given how slowly I had to walk due to my sore tendon. 

When I got to the albergue I had planned to stay at, the last one before Sarria, they were full. So I had to go on to Sarria, where I arrived at 7:30 p.m. I could feel I was on the verge of a bronchiectasis flare up. And sure enough, shortly after arriving, I started coughing. Walking from 8:00 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. was just too much, even if I had gone slowly. 

I found a nice private albergue at the town's entrance, cooked a meal, and collapsed without showering or clothes washing. 
 

Today's walk seemed like the beginning of a different Camino. The folks starting out from Sarria seemed to far outnumber the longer distance walkers. Many of them were only carrying day packs.

I finally met people from South America—two women from Chile. The walk was totally pastoral all the way to Portomarín, a village sitting sitting on a gentle hillside just above a reservoir on the Belasar river. 

I left Nellie and Andrew in Triacastela. We had become something of a trio, at times walking with each other, at times sharing a "field" break or a café break, and staying at the same albergues for several nights. Nellie decided to stay in Triacastela because of her swollen leg and Andrew decided to go the Samos route and lodge there. I took off to to Aguiada—to my chagrin.

 

6 May, Monday, 9:05 a.m.

I've decided to stay in Portomarín for another day. I want to give the antibiotics I started taking yesterday time to kick in without the added stress of hiking, which might make the pneumonia worse— and also to give my sore tendon a rest. But I think I'm in for a boring and uncomfortable day. The town looks charming but there is only one panaderia it has only white bread, baguettes, and prepackaged Santiago tarts. Ever since the day before yesterday, these tarts have been ubiquitous. They're tasty little almond flavored moist flat cakes, but after a few the experience wears thin. Uncomfortable because it is really chilly out and very few places have any heat.

 

05/06/2013 10:43 AM

It's a cold and drizzly day, so my main preoccupation will be keeping warm. This place is really boring. Just lots of tourist shops, banks, bars, supermarkets (so to speak) and various places of lodging. The only panadería in town sells boring bread and prepackaged Santiago tartas. Oh, well, at least one bar has a computer and comfortable booths, even if no heat. At the rate of 2 euros for 48 minutes, I may spend a small fortune keeping myself amused, since I have nothing to read, and the pension where I've reserved a room will not be ready for occupancy until 2 p.m. 

05/06/2013 9:22 P.M.

I spent the afternoon watching old schlocky American movies from my pension roon.  I asked for and received a space heater, so the room is nice and toasty.  I saw Herbie the Love Bug about cars and drivers falling in love in France, and I saw the Billy Wilder film Avanti staring Jack Lemon, and which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I'm recovering, but not as fast as I'd like, so I may stay here one more day.  We shall see what tomorrow brings.

5/7 8:25 p.m.    In pension in Hospital Alta de Cruz taking it easy.

5/7 8:34 p.m.    I walked 11 km today--slowly.  Now coughing much less but still have infection.  Have two more days of antibiotics left.  Rested most of afternoon.

7 May, Tuesday, 8:45 p.m.

I left Portomarín at 11 a.m. this morning.  Yesterday, after leaving the municipal albergue where I stayed the first night, I checked into Aremas, a pension on the main drag near the plaza.  I was able to occupy the room at about 12:30 p.m. and they provided me with a spare heater which within an hour had made the room toasty.  

I set off this morning at 11 a.m., taking it slowly.  My tendon was much less painful today.  I could even take a normal length stride on level ground.  I arrived at Hospital Alta da Cruz at about 2:30 and decided to call it a day.  Since I wanted a warm room to rest in, I checked into the local pension and lay in bed for about four hours until dinner.

The space heater in this room struggles to keep the temperature above 20 degrees centigrade, so I'm not as comfortable as yesterday, but I am compensating with my five layer combo.  I just closed the bathroom door.  I think that will be worth a degree or two.

I age dinner with a mother and son from Austria, near Saltzburg.  She's retired from her job arranging tours at a big castle there, and he is a banker.  While we were waiting for dinner, he got a call from his 22 year old daughter who is working for the Austrian government in Shanghai, China, as an intern.

The dinner--the usual menu peregrino: first course, second course, desert and wine or water--was delicious.  The soup was a variation on what I'm beginning to recognize as the "soup of the region" here in Galicia: lots of potatoes, a few beans, and greater or lesser quantities of a green vegetable.  This particular one had slices of a large, flat and broad green bean, like a giant mutant snow pea, as its green vegetable.  The main course was fish in a stew-like sauce with boiled potatoes.  I was so happy not to have French fries for a change.  Desert was flan.

Earlier in the day I had a fine lunch in Gonzar consisting of Galician soup and "cheese cake."  This Galician soup had some sort of leaf for a green vegetable--lots of it--and was truly wonderful.  The cheese cake was like a cross between flan and a typical North American cheese cake.  Quite delicious.

Today's short walk was through gently rolling countryside dotted with small settlements.  The landscape was a mixture of woodland and cultivated fields.  It tends to smell pretty foul at times, due, I think, to manure processing plants.

Tomorrow I plan to walk only to Palas de Rei, which is only 8 km from here.  I hope to start out before 9, get there in the early afternoon, and spend the rest of the day relaxing.  I will pray to the God of the Camino for a complete recovery by the end of tomorrow.  If my prayers are not answered, I'll take another rest day in Palas de Rei.

8 May, Wednesday, 8:10 a.m.

Got lots of rest and feel better today.  Still, I will limit today's walk to 10 - 12 km. . . .  Had breakfast with three French folks. . . .  From the get-go in SJPdP it has been impossible to avoid French.  I have had to use what little French and German I know, as well as my smattering of Spanish almost every day.  Had I been able to speak a little Italian, that would have come in handy as well.  [My desire to avoid French requires an explanation.  For about 6 months before I left hike the Camino I took Spanish lessons.  Because I at one time knew French pretty well, I kept instinctively thinking of French and it interfered with my learning Spanish.  So I tried very hard to avoid speaking, and even thinking about, French during the time I was learning Spanish.  But on the Camino that confusion surged back with a vengeance.]

Today looks to be another cool, overcast  and drizzly day.

4:50 p.m.

Arrived in Palas de Rei. Walked most of the way from Hospital Alta de Cruz with a couple I met briefly in Roncesvalles. They had remembered me from Roncesvalles as the guy who decided to continue walking after descending the mountain. they had often talked about me, she said, wondering what had happened to me. They were surprised to see me again, figuring I had already arrived in Santiago.

He is a smoker and she hates the smell of it. It's amazing how many rationalizations he came up with for why he had no desire to quit. 

She is from Guadalupe, Mexico, and he's from Italy. She speaks English and Italian as well as Spanish. I spoke to her most of the way and she translated the conversation into Italian for him. Turns out she and I had all sorts of food preferences in common: little meat, lots of organic veggies and fruit, and whole wheat bread. Her favorite ice cream—and mine also—is Hagen Dazs. We kept laughing at each revelation of our similar tastes. She also has a tendon problem—in front rather than in back—and recommended Celebrex, which she had begun to take but had run out of. We found some at a farmacia in Palas de Rei, shared the cost and split the supply. They continued on their way while I started looking for a pension where I could rest. I think I will stay here an extra day, since my chest still hurts a bit and I have only one more day of antibiotics to take.

My goal was to find a place that was warm because it was quite chilly out, and many if not most places did not offer heat. At the first pension I went to, the attendant said it was impossible for guests to regulate the heat in their rooms. Then I went into a bar that looked like it was part of a hotel, although it turns out it wasn't. The young man behind the counter said I should wait and he called someone. Then he told me that the person he talked to was coming to pick me up and take me to a pension. He assured me it was very nice and that all the places in town were the same price—30€. I was surprised that someone was coming to pick me up and I asked for directions, saying I could walk. He said that, no, I should wait to be picked up. I asked if the place was "circa de aqui" because I wanted to be in the center of town, and he assured me it was. 

When I got back from using the bathroom, a woman was waiting for me. I tossed my sticks and backpack into her trunk and she proceeded to drive me to a residential area at the edge of town, with nary a bar or restaurant in sight. When she pulled up in front of her pension, I said I did not want to stay there because it was not in "el centro." She was clearly pissed and asked why didn't I choose one of the many places in el centro if that is where I want to stay. I tried to explain that the man at the bar had told me to wait as he called her, and that he said the place was close by. Clearly annoyed, she got out of the car, opened the trunk so I could get my things, and stormed inside her pension. I retrieved my stuff and set off on foot for el centro. 

The third place I tried had no heat. The next place had heat, but they were full. I was beginning to worry that I would not find a warm place to stay in el centro. But I struck pay dirt at the next place. I got a warm room with a shared bath for 22€. The room even had a TV, but the volume only adjusted half way up to where I could barely make out what was being said. I asked the hotel clerk (who I later found out was also the maid—and for all I know the owner as well) what food and restaurant she recommended.

After settling in and relaxing for a bit, I went to the recommended restaurant and ordered pulpo and ensalada mixta. I got two huge but scrumptious dishes, so I ate half of each and wrapped up the rest to eat later. While I was eating I watched Nadal beat another Tennis player on TV. For desert I had a yogurt flan, which just hit the spot. 

The sun finally started breaking through the clouds around 4 p.m., but it is still cool. I hope tomorrow will be sunny. The landscape along the short walk today was pastoral like yesterday, but with more small settlements.

I have this notion that I want to make it to Santiago by May 12th, one month after I started the trek, but I am increasingly concerned that my walking, as little as it has been these past few days, is counter acting the effectiveness of the antibiotics. I think it would be prudent to rest here two more days before resuming the walk, otherwise I may regret it. If I have any sense, I won't push myself.

Just prior to meeting the Mexican/Italian couple on the way here, I stopped to check out a funky looking albergue called Fuente del Peregrino. I learned that it was started by an American. The volunteer attendant offered me coffee, tea and literature. I would up reluctantly taking a charming post card.

For the past several days I have seen a design of stone fence I've never seen before. There is lots of slate in these parts and large pieces are incorporated into the stone walls in two ways: 

I just love the stone work in this region. Many of buildings are dry stone constructions with very large granite slabs framing the windows.

10 May, Friday 2:20 p.m.

Third day in Palas de Rei and I still feel wiped out. As restless as I am to continue the walk, if I don't feel normal by tomorrow, I will stay another day, but I'm getting bored. All I do is eat and watch TV. The few English language channels available are cartoons for three year old morons, the worst American sitcoms ever produced, and the discovery channel, whose poor production values make each show seem the same—and equally inane—no matter what the subject. 

I've become a regular at the local bar where I've had lunch and dinner for three days. The waitress similes when I come in now. I've also become a regular at the local panaderia/cafeteria where I eat the same breakfast every day: an orange, bready meat pie or little "pizza", and a pastry or two. I try different ones every day. Not great, but OK. They also have a large assortment of gummy candy which ranges in consistency from marshmallows on one end of the soft candy spectrum to classic gummy bears on the other end. My favorite is a dense chewy marshmallowy candy shaped like a little toothbrush. Deliciously droll humor in a Spanish candy manufacturer. Who woulda thunk? 

Today I went to the local Dia supermercado (a chain found throughout Spain, or at least Norther Spain) and picked up nueces (walnuts), yogurt, an orange and a banana, all for breakfast, as well as a bar of Valor Puro (dark chocolate with almonds) which has become my indispensable travel companion. Also a bag of mixed nuts for a healthy road snack. I sure hope I feel better tomorrow.

5/10 2:51 p.m.    Still in Palas de Rei recuperating. I am much better but still low
                           energy. Getting bored and anxious to get back on the road but 
                           leery of starting up again before my body is ready.

 

05/10/2013 3:37 PM

I just spent the last 15 minutes writing an email, and when I was just about to send it, the computer blinked and my message disappeared. I really hate that! I´ll try my best to reconstruct it and hope it won´t disappear this time. In fact, I will send a portion every few minutes just to be sure.

5/10 5:45 p.m.    Found a book. Walter Mosley.

7:55 p.m.

Waiting for dinner. After lunch I wandered into a shop and found a few books in English. . . . Another wonderfully fresh ensalada mixta down the hatch . . . I picked out a Walter Mosley. I was in heaven for three solid hours, basking in the warm sun and Mosley's engrossing story telling. Now, if I have to stay another day, it will be a relaxing pleasure rather than a bore.

 

11 May, Saturday, 2:45 p.m.

On the road again, in Melide, where I've just finished lunch. I got a leisurely 10 a.m. start after breakfasting on my orange, banana, and yogurt with nueces in my room. 

So far today has been cool and cloudy, but not too cool, and not completely overcast. On the way here I met a couple from Slovenia who had started in SJPdP, walked to Pamplona, took a bus to Astorga, and are now walking to Finisterra from Astorga. Last year they trekked from Pamplona to Astorga. When I met them, they had stopped to admire something in a window, so I took a look also. It was a cat staring back at them. I've seen a gazillion cats on the Camino, but I figured I would photograph this one—the obligatory Camino Kitty Photo for Barbara and Zach. 

Yesterday in Palas de Rei I had lunch with a mother and daughter from a small (pop. 300) village in the Italian part of Switzerland. The daughter had grown up in the village and spoke about the first time she visited a big city—Milano—and what a shock it was to experience air pollution. Until then she had only breathed rural alpine air. 

I'm writing this in Ezequiel, having just finished a dish of pulpo and a tarta de queso casera. This place is reputed to have the best pulpo in the entire region, which is famous for pulpo. Like the pulpo I had in Palas de Rei, it was tender and bathed in olive oil, but was not sprinkled with salt as was the other one, but instead was dusted with a bit more pepper. The tarta was very much like the flan cheesecake I had the other day, but instead of being about 1/2 flan and 1/2 American cheesecake, it was about 1/3 / 2/3, making it denser and creamier. Scrumptious. 

I can't decide whether to stay here in Melide for the day or move on. I feel OK, but don't want to overdo it.

5/12 7:53 p.m.    Arrived in Santiago at 7:30.

 

12 May, Sunday, 10 p.m.

Walked through some lovely woods today on the way to Santiago. Ever since about 200 km from Santiago, there have been markers every km showing the distance to Santiago. At 100 km, the markers began to appear every half km. But after passing the 11 km marker, the stone trail markers appeared only at junctions and did not have kilometer markers. 

At the 29 km point the path narrowed and went through a moist and low lying area for about 50 feet. Suddenly a profusion of an herb I'd never seen began populating both sides of the road in the dense greenery. It looked like a mint plant with sage leaves and tasted mildly of mint with overtones of sage and a hint of anise. It was very aromatic. 

As I paused by the side of the road, who should walk by but Ken, the Google guy. He was with a tall young blond from North Carolina. They seemed to be a couple. We chatted animatedly for about 20 minutes until they stopped at a café and I continued on. We encountered each other about two hours later as I was arriving at—and they were leaving—another bar/café. They had booked a place just beyond the airport and planned to get to Santiago tomorrow morning in time for the 12 p.m. mass, which I think is a big deal for arriving pilgrims. They were not the first ones I encountered who planned their Santiago entrance for the morning so they could attend the mass shortly after they arrived. 

I also passed the white-mustached Australian with the cool leather hat, but this time he was wearing shorts without pink tights underneath and his legs were incredibly tan. He was leaning against a fence waiting for his wife to catch up. 

I finally reached Santiago at about 7:30 p.m. and picked out a private albergue that looked clean. As I walked in the door, who should I see but the young Japanese man whose pole I had mistaken taken (and returned) about two weeks ago, along with the two female Korean friends he was traveling with. We were surprised to see each other again and exchanged stories. 

I ate a mediocre peregrino menu at a corner bar a few doors down the street from the albergue, and am now waiting for my wash to finish. I decided to splurge on a washer/dryer (6€ total) since I hadn’t washed my pants in over a week. One of my shirts was getting smelly, and I had 2 sets of unwashed socks and underwear. I suspect it will be midnight before I get to bed, but that’s OK. One is allowed to stay two nights in a Santiago albergue and the night curfew is much less strict. 

I'm glad to have made it to Santiago today. For over a week it seemed like I was always four days from Santiago, and I decided yesterday that I didn't want to keep being four days away. Besides, it seems fitting to arrive on May 12, since I started in SJPdP on April 13. However, I had to put in a 40+ km day to accomplish it, all the while pacing myself so I wouldn't have a relapse of my bronchietasis. I seem to have pulled it off. Now I will stay two nights before proceeding to Finisterra. [Finisterra is the western most point in Spain: world's end. [It is about four kilometers west of Fisterra, the name of the closest village, which seems to be a contraction of Finisterra.] 

I finally remembered to ask Ken the full name of his daughter who goes to Evergreen. It's Katheryn Grant.

 

13 May, Monday, 9:40 a.m.

Finished "When the Thrill is Gone." Left it at the albergue and took another book. Nobody snored last night. Slipt like a babe from 12 to 6.

 

1:15 p.m.

Sitting in Praza do Obradoiro soaking up the sun. Spent a boring half hour in the Cathedral attending the 12 p.m. service Keep seeing people I've encountered on the walk. They give out two types of certificates at the Peregrino Office—a religious one and a secular one. I was the only person on the half full log sheet to request the secular certificate. 

[I first tried to get my certificate about 10 in the morning, but the line out of the Peregrino Office was huge, so I decided to come back in the afternoon. When I did return the line was much diminished and I had to wait only about 10 minutes. When I got to the counter, I was present with a log sheet to fill out. I had to fill out my name, the country I was from, when and where I began my walk, and why I walked the Camino. I had to put a check beneath one of three columns:

religious | religious and other | other

After I checked "other" the woman behind the counter said to me with a frown, "If you choose that one you know you won't get the same certificate." I then noticed that there was a box full of stiff cardboard tubing—no doubt containing the 'religious' certificate—and a pile of papers on the counter top consisting of the 'other' certificates. I said, "Well, that’s the reason," and she took one of the plain certificates, wrote in the date and my name, stamped a signature, and brusquely handed it over.] 

 

7:25 p.m. 

 

Finished planning the rest of my walk. I'll be going from Santiago to Fisterra via Muxía, and then to Cee. From Cee I'll take a bus to Madrid with one day to spare. Off to go shopping for dinner. 

 

15 May, Wednesday, 10:45 a.m. 

 

In a bar in Vilaserio. 

Yesterday was quite a day. I was ready to leave the albergue in Santiago by 9:15 a.m. but I couldn't find my sticks. I looked all over, several times, to no avail. Finally, I gave up hope of finding them and set out. While walking I kept remembering how important the sticks were to me and how difficult, if not impossible, it would be to walk without them. I also tried to recall where I last saw the sticks. I visualized the moment I arrived at the albergue, how I showed the miss-matched sticks to the Japanese man and his Korean friends, and how I later put them next to my bunk bed.

I decided I really needed them and that they HAD to be at the albergue. So 20 minutes after I set out, I turned around. By the time I arrived back, the cleaning crew had arrived. I asked one of them if she knew where sticks were kept. She went to a locked door near the washing machine, selected a key from her key chain, and opened the door. Inside the room was a collection of sticks, including my own miss-matched pair. A sense of opportunity replaced my despair. I took all of them out of the room and began looking them over. I found a much better replacement than the crappy one I had been given by the Japanese fellow. I now have a bright red and very sturdy stick in addition to my original light green Black Diamond pole. I felt much better as I again set off again at about 10:15 a.m.. 

I arrived in Negreira at about 5:30 and checked out a private albergue on the main drag but didn't like it because it had only a hot plate and a few pots and pans in lieu of a stove, sink and fully stocked kitchen.. The attendant, in an attempt to persuade me to stay, said that the municipal albergue was one and a half km past the center of town and was probably full. But in spite of being tired, and discouraged that it was beginning to drizzle, I decided to take a chance, and I set out to find the municipal albergue. After walking a bit, I was uncertain of the correct way out of town to get there, so I stopped to ask a woman where it was, and she said she was staying there and said she would take me, so we walked there together. 

When we arrived, the attendant had to check to see if there were any free beds, all of which were single beds rather than the bunk beds that most albergues had. She returned to tell me that there was one bed left. Weary, but happy, I shaved, showered, washed my clothes and walked back to town to get some food for dinner and 2 breakfasts. 

It had been a rough day for me. The night before I left Santiago I had gotten precooked mixed veggies as well as meat and potatoes from the deli section of Carefour, a very modern "hypermarket", for dinner. The food gave me diarrhea that night and all the next day on my walk to Negreira, in spite of downing all my loperamid. It's not great to have diarrhea under any circumstances, but to have it hiking in a place where toilets are available only every three to six km is pretty dreadful. The ordeal finally ended last night. 

 

Today I set out from Negreira at 7:15 a.m. 

 

5/15 1:37 p.m.    In a cafe in Santa Marina (with a tilde) with Wi-Fi. Pondering whether to stay here or go another 11 km. 

 

6:30 p.m. 

 

Yesterday I came upon a farmer leading a cow hitched to a wooden wagon full of straw. Seemed right out of the middle ages, except that on top of the hay was a chainsaw. 

Right now I'm sipping Estrella Galicia, the local beer, at the private albergue in Olveiroa. While I was staying in Santiago, I got to know better one of the Korean women who had been walking with the Japanese man. I overtook her on the way out of Santiago, and we walked together for a bit before I decided to return to try to locate my sticks. She had stayed at the private albergue in Negreira that I had stopped in but decided not to stay at. Today I walked the last part of the way here with her. She just graduated with a biology degree and is walking the Camino before starting to look for work. She wants to be a marine biologist. She said her friends (who had left Santiago the day before she did) told her that the private albergue here was much better than the public one. When we reached Olveiroa, we said our buen caminos and she went on to Logoso while I stayed in Olveiroa at the private albergue her friends had recommended. 

This place seems more like a bed and breakfast than an albergue. Instead of being built as an albergue, it's clearly a house that has been refurbished to accommodate guests. The room I'm staying in, which I have all to myself, has only two beds. I just ate a home cooked meal prepared by the proprietress: spiral noodles in a meat sauce, a slab of meat with a salad (in lieu of the ubiquitous "fritas"), a pear, and two beers. I'm sitting at the dining room table with four French peregrinos, who have prepared their own meal. They are polite and friendly, but are pretty much talking among themselves. 

What I take to be the hostess' granddaughter, who seems to be about 8 – 10 years old, has been flitting in and out of the room, sometimes watching TV with her older brother, sometimes drawing or coloring at the dining room table, sometimes dashing out and back in again, and generally being very cute. This is definitely the most pleasant albergue I have stayed in. 

5/16 5:09 p.m.    Stayed in Olveiroa last night. Now in Dumbria this evening. Off to Muxía tomorrow.

 

16 May, Thursday, 7:15 p.m. 

 

For some time now, the map guide I have been using has shown "Castros" situated along the route in various locations. Finally, in Santiago, I asked the attendant what Castros were. He didn't know, but looked it up on his computer and showed me pictures of them. They are circular stone fortifications built in strategic locations by Roman soldier in their travels around Spain. I had hoped to see one of the two Castro complexes near the path today, but did not catch site of them. Oh well.

Today it rained steadily most of the day. This is the first day I really needed my rain pants. I stayed dry, but it was not a fun walk. Due to the steady rain and the fact that the next albergue after Dumbria is in Muxía—25 km further—I only walked a leisurely 10 km, the least of my entire trip, I think. 

When I checked into the albergue here, after waiting two and a half hours for it to open, I couldn't find my certificate, the "passport" I received in SJPdP and which had been stamped at every place I had stayed along the way. I explained to the attendant that I pro9bably left it at the albergue I was in last night. I couldn't remember the name of the place and it was not on the list of albergues that I had. But the attendant was really helpful and got on the phone calling people he knew in Olveiro, giving them the description of the albergue as I remembered it. After twenty minutes he was able to obtain the phone number of the place and called there. The owner said she found my certificate on the floor under the bed. The attendant arranged for another friend to pick it up and bring it to the albergue at Dumbria. I am now re-united with my stamp-filled certificate. Close call. 

Tomorrow I will stay in Muxía. There are only three of us at this very modern, spacious and WARM albergue: a middle-aged Spanish guy and a young woman from Ireland with a thick brogue, which I just love. She has already been to Finisterra and is walking back via Muxía to Santiago. She will begin graduate study in biology when she returns to Ireland. 

 

17 May, Friday, 10:30 a.m. 

 

In a bar in Senade. Just as I walked in, the Sun came out. When I started out at 9 a.m. it was raining, and on the way to Senade I encountered 2 intense but short-lived hail storms with a rainbow in between. 

 

12:15 p.m. 

 

In a bar in Quintáns. Still raining on and off.. The colors, hues and textures of the natural world were music to my eyes as I walked through a wooded path path to this town. God, I love the woods.

Leaving Dumbria this morning, the sidewalks were strewn with three to four inch black slugs. 

5/17 7:05 p.m.    In Muxía. 

 

7:15 p.m. 

 

In the Muxía municipal albergue. 

In the middle of San Martiño de Ozón, a little village in the hills before the descent to Muiños, the path veered off into the woods. A large German Shepherd was standing in the path looking at me. As I approached him he began trotting down the path, looking back occasionally to see if I was following. For the better part of a kilometer I had a personal canine guide on the Camino. Finally he stepped to the side of the path and waited for me. As I passed him he faced me and lifted a paw in the classic pose of a hound pointing at its prey (in this case me). Then he bounded off back to the village, and I was left alone again in the woods, accompanied only by intermittent rain and sunshine amidst a panoply of trees. 

As I write this the wind is howling and the rain is heavy. Earlier it had let up for about two hours, just enough time to enable me to ascend to the top of a big pile of rocks, between the village of Muxía and the Shrine of the Virgin de la Barca, and overlooking both of them, indulge in a chocolata with a couple of churos at a local bar, and make it back to the albergue. 

Naturally it's another holiday, so all the supermercados are closed. I made a meal with half a bell pepper, half an onion, and an ounce of chiriso I had carried with me from Dumbria, as well as some leftover pasta that was in the albergue kitchen. Not very satisfying, but I can't face the nasty weather to go to a restaurant. I think I'll munch on some nuts and chocolate and read the book I just picked up in the albergue lobby. Last night I finished "Bones are Forever" by Kathy Reichs, so I'm glad to have another one. 

My boots lost their waterproofing effect today from these past two days of rain, so I arrived with wet feet. I sure hope the rain stops before tomorrow. [I subsequently spent the rest of the night stuffing my boots with crinkled up newspaper, waiting twenty minutes, removing the paper and repeating the process in an effort to dry out my boots. It worked, because in the morning they were almost completely dry.] 

18 May, Saturday, 12:15 p.m. 

 

In a bar in Lires, half way between Muxía and Fisterra. The rain ended mid-morning. Last night when I arrived at the municipal albergue in Muxía, the attendant advised me to stock up on food, since the only bars along the road are in Lires, which is 15 km from Muxía. He then proceeded to inform me that today (Friday) is a holiday so all the stores are closed. Such helpful advice. Until I reached Lires I had to make due with the nuts and chocolate I always carry with me. 

 

19 May, Sunday, 8:55 a.m. 

 

I'm writing this in the municipal albergue in Fisterra. Arrived in town yesterday about 4:30 p.m. The yellow arrows along the Camino, which had always shown the way ever since SJPdP, in cities as well as in the countryside, suddenly stopped appearing when I arrived in Fisterra, for which I had no city map, so I had no clue where the municipal albergue was. I asked a woman on the street who recommended another (private) albergue, so I went there instead. After negotiating with them to provide heat in the lounge area—it being quite cool outside—I discovered they had only top bunks left. As I put my backpack on in preparation for setting out to find another place, it started to rain. I couldn't face more rain at that point so I decided to wait it out. After 15 minutes it was still raining, so I gave up on waiting and put on my rain gear. Just as I was about to leave (once again) one of the attendants offered me a cup of tea. It was a gesture I really appreciated, and took him up on the offer. As I sat in the kitchen I began chatting with a young Englishman who was skinning garlic cloves in preparation for making garlic soup. By the time I finished my tea it had stopped raining. I set off again, fortified by good conversation, hot tea, generosity, and a city map showing the location of the municipal albergue. 

As I write this, I am hearing gunshots. I am told it's locals trying to scare off pesky gulls, which are now squawking like crazy. The firing continues. 
 

Just as I was checking into the municipal albergue, I saw that an Italian guy was about to use the washer and dryer. I immediately made him and offer, and he agreed to share the load and split the cost. Since the total cost (2.50€) was about half what I usually encountered, it was a great opportunity to get my pants and shirt clean, so I quickly changed into shorts so as not to hold him up. After showering, I put on rain pants over the shorts to keep warm and went to the local supermercado to buy food to cook for dinner: a carrot, a green pepper, an onion, a potato and a few slices of local sausage. The stove turned out to be pretty crappy. There was only one burner and the highest setting seemed to be just below medium. But the kitchen had sunflower oil, salt, curry, cumin and cinnamon, so I was in culinary heaven. Since two young women from the Czech Republic, who I had seen in Negreria but had not talked to there, were waiting for me to finish my dish so they could begin boiling pasta, I cut the cooking short. The stir fry was delicious—perfectly underdone—and the Italian shared his wine with me. 

I started up a conversation with the Czech women, but we were interrupted by the attendant who said he was closing the kitchen and dining area promptly at 9 p.m. Ten minutes later the two women had to take their barely cooked spaghetti to the second floor landing to eat as the kitchen/dining area was locked up. It seemed a real injustice to me because they would have been finished eating by 9 if boiling the pasta had not taken over 45 minutes due to the malfunctioning stove. After they finished eating we walked to the beach to watch the 9:50 sunset, which turned out to be a disappointment, since rain clouds moved in on the western horizon. But we had a nice conversation, and there were many others at the beach as well, including the Italian and the albergue attendant. Bottles of wine were passed around. A Fisterra beach party.

After walking back to town with the Czech women, I left them near the albergue. They continued walking around and I stopped at a bar to have a cup of orange cinnamon chocolata. The waitress served it with a complementary piece of a very good Santiago tarta. 

When I first checked into the albergue yesterday, there was only one bed left, and wonder to behold, it was a bottom bunk bed. In total there were 24 bunk beds (48 mattresses) and two small bath rooms, one for men and one for women, each with a toilette and one shower. This was the worst ratio I encountered on the entire Camino. Fortunately, I only had to wait 10 minutes for a shower yesterday. It's now 9:40 a.m. so I think I'll try to brush me teeth. 

My plan is to leave my backpack in storage here at the albergue, walk to the end of the earth and back (about 7 km total), retrieve my backpack, have lunch, and set out. Yesterday the kitchen kicker-outer suggested I stop at an albergue in Corcubión, about 4 km this side of Cee, and then take a bus from Cee to Santiago the following day. So that's what I'll do. Then I'll stay overnight in Santiago and take a red eye bus to the Madrid airport in time to fly home on the morning of the 22nd. 

When I was waiting to use the toilette this morning, there was a young guy in the bathroom using a fucking blow-drier on his hair. You gotta wonder. 

 

7:45 p.m. 

 

In a bar in Cee drinking chocolata. 

At 10:30 this morning I took off for Finisterra, where the sun goes to die. Very touristy. The land drops dramatically down from the lighthouse to the rocks battered by the sea below. It was too steep for me to climb all the way down. It would have taken either a daredevil or a mountain climber to attempt it. The promontory at Muxía was both more accessible and poetic. After exploring a few paths between the road and the sea on the way back from the lighthouse—none of which went all the way down to the sea—I hiked back to Fisterra for lunch. [After getting back to the us, I checked out the Fisterra area on Google maps and discovered that the lighthouse situated at the fabled "end of the world" is actually due south of the town, and the beach I went to the previous evening was the true westernmost lands end.] 

As I was returning to Fisterra from Pointe de Morte, I kept hearing bursts of rocket fire and seeing puffs of smoke coming from the town in the distance. First I would see a white puff of smoke, followed by the sound of the rocket a second or two later. As I arrived in the village the rocket fire became annoyingly loud and increasingly frequent. I heard a band in the distance and soon came upon a parade, which I was forced to follow since it was the only way back to the albergue. I later found out it was some sort of holiday, but I'm hazy on the details. I'm not sure if it was a special occasion or a regular Sunday event. The parade consisted of a colorful float on top of which was what looked like a religious statue, and which was being carried by about a dozen people and preceded by a band. About 200 townspeople walked behind the float in two columns. 

I ate at Pirata, a place that was recommended by one of the albergue volunteers, a young woman who was much friendlier than the man who had kicked the two Czech women out of the kitchen. At the recommendation of the German waitress who, along with her Spanish husband, owns the place (as well as another café which serves breakfast), I ordered the assortment of sea food. What a treat! A heaping plateful of oysters, two kinds of clams, a weird long type of oyster or clam, and two kinds of fish—all perfectly done. After finishing I set off for Corcubión just after 3:00 p.m. 

The albergue there looked like a large house and was situated in a wooded area by the side of the road. Sitting out front was an elderly, heavy set and very talkative woman with an English accent. She turned out to be the albergue volunteer. Years ago she married a Spaniard and settled in Muíños, a little town I passed through on the way to Muxía. It was upon reaching the top of a hill approaching Muíños that I first saw the Atlantic Ocean after walking west for over 500 miles. [That sudden sighting was probably the most emotional moment of my entire journey. Suddenly I knew in my bones that this is where we all came from. Majestic. Untameable. Mysterious.] She said if I wanted to get a bus from Cee to Santiago, I would be better off continuing on to Cee today and then checking out bus schedules tomorrow morning. A friend of hers had opened a very nice albergue in Cee, she said, and it would be a good place to stay. She then spent about twenty minutes trying to find out the bus schedule from Cee to Santiago. All the while I was anxious to be going, but she was trying to be helpful, so I felt I had to let her keep making calls and checking the Internet. In the end, she was not able to find the schedule from Cee to Santiago, but she did discover that there was a 9:30 p.m. bus from Santiago that arrived at the Madrid airport at 7:00 a.m. the next morning—perfect for my 10:25 a.m. flight home. I thanked her and set out on my final stretch. [At that point I modified the plans I had made before leaving Santiago and decided to stay overnight in Santiago on May 20 and then take a red eye to the Madrid airport to catch my morning flight to Atlanta.] 

I arrived in Cee at about 6:00 p.m. and spent about a half hour looking for the albergue she recommended. I finally gave up and settled on one fairly near the center of town that seemed to be nice. Journey's end. It wasn't until later that I figured out it was the very place the English woman had recommended. 

5/19 8:14 p.m    In Cee waiting for it to stop raining before I dash across the square to
                          eat. 

 

9:00 p.m. 

 

I then headed to the center of town to look for a restaurant and ducked into a bar when it started to pour. After the rain stopped I headed across the square to eat supper at a restaurant I had spotted. I ordered a salad, which was large, but boring and not filling enough. Some soup would have hit the spot, it being fairly cold out, but I didn't see any on the menu. I asked anyway and at first the waiter said no but then went back to check with the kitchen. He cam back and offered me a sample of "left over" soup to try. He said it was left over from the market earlier in the day. In cool weather, he explained, the restaurant, which sits on the square where the market is held every Sunday, gives out free cups of soup to warm people up. It is a special soup of this region of Spain. It consists of garbanzo beans with pig and cow tripe in a rich broth. The sample was extraordinarily delicious, so of course I ordered it. 

The waiter returned with a terracotta crockery bowl filled with the rest of the left over soup. What a treat it was. A perfect finish for journey's end. I topped it off with flan because they had run out of my first choice, tarta de queso. 

5/20 9:12 a.m.    On bus to Santiago. 

[Immediately upon arriving in Santiago, I bought my ticket to the airport for the next evening and began to look for a close-by hotel. I soon discovered that I was less than a kilometer away from the main entrance to the old city I had spent so much time in last week. I checked in to a charming little place across the street and down the road a bit from the old city entrance, Tafona. What a great choice it turned out to be! The location was perfect and it had a restaurant with food to die for—the best food I had the entire trip: truly world class, and modestly priced to to boot. I ate all my meals there and loved every one. And in addition to the great food, I was also able to control the heat in my room. Altogether a luxurious grand finale.] 

5/22 8:03 a.m.    In Madrid airport. 

5/22 1:13 p.m.    In Atlanta.