Kiwi on the Camino Read online

  After days of almost virtual isolation, with just one or two pilgrims occasionally in sight and a tractor or two, León feels very full of people. We have obviously stumbled into an event about to happen. There are restaurants busy catering to the festival fevered crowds. We find a pavement table and order our dinner. Over the road, a tiered row of benches has been erected and people are beginning to take a seat.

  We join the gathering spectators on these seats after our meal. We sit for two and a half hours waiting for the floats to go past. During the wait, we watch people parade by, heading mostly in the direction, we are later to find out, of the cathedral. Two very well dressed girls, about six years old, are using an empty aluminium can as a soccer ball as they walk behind their parents. Back and forth the can goes, as stockinged legs and well shod feet give the can another turn of direction.

  A couple sit down beside us. At least he sits on the bench beside us and she sits on the bench one lower down and uses his legs as a back support. He is Spanish and she Korean and they have recently married after meeting on the Camino. This was his third time walking the Camino and her first. They had both walked with the hope of meeting a potential life-long spouse. We know this because she can speak English. She is currently learning Spanish. A useful idea if you are married to a Spaniard and now live in Spain. I ask if he is learning Korean. When she translates, he looks at me with disbelief. I do not try to stop myself as I add, “You could speak Spanish in the morning and Korean in the afternoon or vice versa.” This too is translated. She is amused. He is not. Neither are planning to complete their interrupted-by-marriage Camino.

  Our newly married companions do not know when the parade will start and I am not confident enough to ask anyone else. Both Bruce and I are now worried about getting locked out of the albergue. We do not want a repeat of the Burgos experience. Bruce says, “We need to head back to the albergue.” My response is a moan of disappointment, “But we’ve waited all this time.” We had come all this way not knowing what celebrations would be happening during Holy Week and now it looks like we are going to miss the fun. Bother! From our companions, we learn that there are processions planned for most days in León during Holy Week. We are staying two nights as previously planned to give us time to enjoy a few of the city’s attractions and to rest. Perhaps there will be a parade on our rest day.

  Rest Day in León

  I’ve come to the conclusion that journeys are sparked from small and unlikely things

  rather than grand convictions, small things that strike a note which resonates beyond the earshot of the rational.

  Jason Elliot

  April 15, Day 25

  LEÓN PARTIED ALL NIGHT. THE bunkroom window was left wide open because of the heat. Sleep was not on the agenda for all those merry revellers directly outside our windows and beyond. About 1.15 a.m. it seemed most were making their way home to bed, to ready themselves for work the next morning. However, there were some lively folk who did not need much sleep. Throughout the early morning, stragglers continued to pass beneath our wide-open window, shouting to one another about the evening, the night’s events and whatever else caught their fancy. At 2 a.m., 3 a.m. or 4 a.m., the need to walk quietly while passing the monastery, was not on the merrymakers’ minds.

  The monastery provides our breakfast which is included in the price of our beds. Joining the other pilgrims, we sit at the one long, large table with a checked cloth. We are each given a simple breakfast of bread with tea or instant coffee. After breakfast, Bruce and I decide to return to the street where we had been the night before and take some time to look around. I also want to post some of our warmer clothes (not the wet weather gear) to Wayne’s post office box.

  Following embedded scallop shells, we make our way back to the scene of last night’s disappointment. I am delighted with the colour schemes of some of the shops. One is a gorgeous deep olive green for the first to fourth floors. The fifth storey looks to be blue, but having to crane my neck to look is a bit tricky. The ground floor has an ice-cream parlour. As I enjoy an ice-cream, I think the fetching deep olive green with off-white window frames, would look better without the ice-cream sign.

  Over the road from the restaurant where we had eaten and behind the temporary tiers of seats is the Casa de Botines. The famous architect, Antoni Gaudí, designed this neo-Gothic palace. How exciting. We had been disappointed in Barcelona when we had missed seeing ‘Gaudí’s Cathedral.’ I had not expected to see any of Gaudí’s architecture along the Camino – what an unexpected bonus for us. While originally built as a palace, the Casa de Botines is now operating as a bank. We cross the road, walk behind the temporary tier of seats and try to open the door for a view inside the building. I am quite prepared to pretend I am a bank customer. It is closed.

  During another explore around on my own while Bruce sleeps I find the Correos (post office). I put my bundle on the counter; “Santiago?” “No, Pollensa.” That gets me a surprised look. It makes my day. In front of the post office is the Jardin San Francisco, a smallish fenced off garden, inside which is a fountain and pond, large trees and bedding flowers coming into bloom. I saunter around, then go and fetch Bruce so he too can come and experience this appealing garden.

  There is a 6 p.m. service in the León Chapel attached to the cathedral. We walk in the direction we had seen so many people walk the previous evening. The 13th century Gothic cathedral is awe inspiring. Its construction began in 1205 and was completed just twenty years later. I thought cathedrals were supposed to take several centuries to build. What draws people, like us, to this cathedral is the desire to see the stained glass windows, all one hundred and twenty five of them. It has not one, but three very large rose windows. The rose window is usually my favourite window. A once close friend of mine painted the rose window of our parish church many years ago; I still treasure that painting. Here in the cathedral in León, the eighteen hundred square metres of stained glass lets in so much light, there have been two roof falls. The roof is fortunately intact the day we view the cathedral. We are too late to see the sun shining through any of these inspiring windows and we miss the service.

  León to Villar de Mazarife

  22.2 kms (13.8ml)

  317.5 kms (197.3ml) to Santiago

  Empathy is your pain in my heart.

  Author Unknown

  April 16, Day 26

  ANOTHER PILGRIM TURNS THE LIGHT on and wakes us. Often, we are the first in the bunkroom to be up, but not this morning. We haven’t had a lot of sleep due to a later than usual night. Bruce is a bit jaded and doesn’t fancy the twenty-two-kilometre walk planned for the day. We decide to have a leisurely breakfast, walk the eight kilometres to the edge of the city and find an albergue there. I too must be tired, as I do not even offer a half-hearted protest at this change of plan. The breakfast room is full of young Belgium men who are cycling to Santiago. There are also some walking pilgrims we had passed a few days back. We decide against eating in the crowded room, so go in search of a bar as we have no breakfast supplies of our own.

  We reject the first bar, but enter the second. Bruce and I are shown upstairs where there is a group of four pilgrims already seated. We join them at their table. Two of the group are Canadians and will be beginning their Camino here in León. They are planning to catch a taxi the eight kilometres to the outskirts of the city, to avoid the hard surface of city pavements and the dreary industrial areas. Bruce and I look at each other. He is obviously very keen to share the taxi ride. I struggle. “Shouldn’t we walk the whole Camino? What if we are asked at the cathedral, ‘Have you walked every step?’ What will we say if we haven’t? Will it jeopardize our compostela?” My scruples voiced, we ask the two women if they mind us sharing their taxi. They don’t mind at all. Our plan is now to walk from the outskirts of León to Villar de Mazarife some fourteen kilometres away.

  As the four of us get up to leave the bar, three young men arr
ive. One is from the Hawkes Bay, New Zealand and the other two are Australian. We have finally met a fellow Kiwi, but cannot stay to talk as the Canadians want to start their Camino. One of the two women is very anxious. She has never done anything like this before. Her companion is a hiking veteran.

  Taking the taxi, we miss seeing the famed hotel, San Marcos, which was once a pilgrim hospital. This hotel featured in the movie, The Way. A few of these former hospitals are now very upmarket hotels and unaffordable to many pilgrims.

  Bruce and I sit and rest at a bus stop once the taxi ride is over. Opposite us is a shop so I stock up on snacks. When I return, Emma and Ben are talking with Bruce. I mention the splinter in my left hand. It had been bothersome during the night and had woken me when I had put pressure on that spot. I had got the splinter when climbing down from the tiered seats. “I’ll sort the splinter later,” I say. “No, you must get it out now,” Emma exclaims as she looks at my hand. In the face of such enthusiasm for the wellbeing of my hand how can I refuse? I think she will take my left hand in hers and carefully deal to the splinter which is easily visible. He, on the other hand, I suggest, can hold my right hand in a spirit of comfort and support. I think he moves his body ever so slightly away from me.

  I produce my needle, used for the blister procedure, which she takes. I then produce the Betadine and spray the wound area. Emma then hands me the needle. My right hand cannot be held by anyone as it is required to pierce my left hand. I have never dug a splinter out in my entire life. Once again, the Camino requires me to face my fears and anxieties. Emma makes encouraging noises, urging me to dig deeper into my tender skin with this revoltingly sharp object. (This is the same woman who only yesterday had called me an ‘angel’ for I had encouraged them to walk an earlier stretch of the Camino instead of catching a bus. They had very much enjoyed the walk.) “A little more, up here, just a little more. Very good, very good.” It is so good I now have a rupture in my skin. She then produces the tweezers and there the blighter is, out of my hand and in the tweezers. Another very timely pilgrim encounter. If we had walked the eight kilometres to the edge of the city we would not have met this couple again. Once again, our needs have been met. I am thankful. My hand did need to be splinter free.

  We are now at the junction of yet another route option. There are two competing arrows - two small villages are vying for pilgrim custom - and it is confusing. We choose well and the path takes us via the scenic route through more stunning open countryside. At the village of Fresno del Camino we meet up with a couple of pilgrims who are hot and disgruntled. They walked the long slog out of the city on hard, concrete foot paths among city traffic fumes. They too wished they had caught a taxi.

  Bruce and I are now walking at about nine hundred metres above sea level with the majestic mountains to our right. As we walk we are getting closer to the mountains and we know that the highest point on the Camino is coming up. We are among tracts of land left to the devices of flowers, stunted bushes, birds, and wild animal life. The wild flowers with their yellows, whites and purples, create a coloured score for the music of the cuckoos and frogs. The rosemary is flowering and the thyme putting on new foliage. My favourite wild flower is a large daisy, which begins with just a solid yellow centre looking very much like a miniature sunflower. It then breaks out with a circle of white petals so much shorter than expected for such a large solid yellow centre. The bronze-green poplar leaves are rustling in the breeze. The oaks have been tardy, but they too are now showing some leaf. Spring is a tapestry of delight. We continue to enjoy these high tablelands which have proven to be so different from all our expectations.

  Villar de Mazarife is a village with a reputation for being pilgrim friendly. We book in to the first private albergue we come to. We take a private room with shared bathroom facilities. Our bed price includes the provision of a pillow and ‘proper’ sized towels. I appreciate these small luxuries. In our packs, we each have a quick drying tramping towel which is longer, but narrower, than the average sized tea towel. There is no room for a regular bath towel in our packs.

  A pilgrim we had met is staying at another albergue that has a popular bar where meals are also provided. I am curious to see this albergue with its patio and garden area. While Bruce sleeps, I go in search of our acquaintance. The albergue is a large adobe structure with an internal courtyard complete with a well. It is painted in the deep gold ochre I love. With my acquaintance, I am about to climb the rather rickety, roughly sawn, wooden staircase to have a look at the bunkrooms, when the owner calls, “Only pilgrims staying here can go upstairs.” Fair enough.

  I then go in search of a shop. There are two either side of a small square complete with village fountain. I enter the shop named for the Camino – Frutas de Camino de Santiago. We need a break from the Menu del Dia, so I purchase a tinned Mediterranean mix and tinned peas. Fresh tomatoes, some olives, plus bread and olive oil also go onto the counter. To complete the meal, I buy a bottle of Rioja wine. At home, I use pre-packaged food as infrequently as possible, but I figure tinned vegetables must be better than no vegetables. There is little in the way of fresh fruit so I buy tinned fruit and yoghurt for breakfast.

  Having bought my purchases, for just twelve euros, I wander over, out of curiosity, to look in the second shop. I should have gone there first. There is so much more choice. I buy some fresh strawberries. We will now have too much fruit for breakfast, but I am sure we will manage. Perhaps another time I will browse around the options and then make my purchase.

  Loose the cords of mistakes that bind us

  In the evening, we stroll down the route I earlier found to the shops and walk on a little further to a field where horses are grazing. They take no notice of us, but I delight in watching them. I rode horses through my angst-ridden adolescent years. My angst was produced by the knowledge of the pain and suffering of so many, brought about by humankind and natural disasters, and the worry that a nuclear holocaust could be unleashed at any time. My horse provided a safe holding place during that time of internal strife.

  Bruce and I sit on a low stone wall, next to the horse paddock, eating our tinned food from our small metal bowls. Vegetables at last. Hidden in the bag from the first shop are two chocolate biscuits for our dessert. We are experiencing grace and hospitality in abundance. I reverse my disappointment in shopping at the Frutas de Camino de Santiago first.

  Three boys, aged about ten and eleven, arrive accompanied by a dog. Two of the boys throw sticks at the horses. The horses take note of these new arrivals. Our evening of calm and serenity is gone. As we prepare ourselves to intervene should the game of stick throwing continue, the boys tire and leave. Bored I suppose. The sport of stick throwing at vulnerable animals did not produce their hoped-for adrenalin rush.

  Thunderclouds are gathering overhead, so we head back to the albergue. There’s a little rain falling as we arrive back. We agree to put our wet weather gear at the tops of our packs in the morning. Pilgrims are gathered together talking about their blisters. Some are still getting new blisters two to three weeks into their Camino. Our toe blisters have healed and the large heel blisters are well on their way thanks to the intervention of our Italian surgeons.

  A woman we have not seen before arrived at the albergue while we were away eating our dinner. She has a black eye, with bruising quite a way out from the actual eye and cuts and scratches around her eye as well. She fell forward onto her face with the weight of her pack at her back. She hit the ground hard. Later when writing my blog, I thank those people back home who are praying for us. I realise afresh how fortunate we are to be walking the Camino with the time to go at a pace we can manage. Bruce and I again notice the pressure others are under to cover a certain amount of distance by a given time to meet end-of-Camino transport deadlines. While we have avoided transport deadlines, I create targets because of places I want to reach on certain dates.

  I want to be in Rabanal del Camino o
n Easter Saturday where I hope to participate in the midnight vigil. To make Rabanal on time we will need to be on the road by 6.30 a.m. even though it will still be dark. The guidebook indicates a very straight forward early route with no warnings of, “be careful not to miss the turn off.” We will need to walk thirty-one kilometres to Astorga to make Rabanal by Saturday.

  Villar de Mazarife to Astorga

  31.2 kms (19.4ml)

  295.3 kms (183.5ml) to Santiago

  Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing more to add,

  But when there is nothing left to take away.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1900-1944)

  April 17, Day 27, Maundy Thursday

  EARLY MORNING IS MY FAVOURITE time of day and this morning is no exception. The sealed road, visible in the near-full moon and crystal starlight, is straight for six kilometres so I can relax into the walk knowing I will not have to refer to the guidebook. Behind us the sun begins to rise. It is magnificent. The village rests at the sun’s feet, then assumes its own separate identity again, as the sun rises higher. As we walk, we notice large black slugs still out on the sides of the road and on the road, itself. They will need to retreat soon or the sun will destroy them. At 8.30 a.m., we stop beside the road to eat our picnic breakfast. The ground is still damp so we sit on our raincoats. A few other pilgrims walk past. There is a slight mist hanging over the fields, but we can already tell it is going to be another warm, sunny day.