Houston, We Have a Problemo!

So remember Mark´s little shin splint that caused us to cut our day short on the last post? Well, he rested all afternoon and then we went to stroll around the town to see the sights. We were in Castrojertz, a very beautiful village with a population of about 1,000. About 10 minutes into our walk, Mark had to stop. He had apparently developed the monther of all shin splints. We went back to the albergue and started researching shin splints on the internet. While there was a diversity of opinion about whether to ice it, compress it or massage it, each site agreed that the most important thing to do was rest it. We went back and forth on whether to try to push on, walking shorter distances and more slowly, but when he stood up and put weight on the leg, we knew that we were done for. This was not an easy decision. We really want to walk every inch of the Camino and there was this terrible feeling of failure, plus a bigger fear that if we stopped, we wouldn´t ever start again. But, hey, he really couldn´t walk so we just had to put on our best faces and take a break.
After much discussion, we decided to leave Castrojertz and head onto Leon. The main thinking was that if we got waylaid for three or four days with nothing to do and nothing to read and feeling pretty depressed, we would do permanent damage to the marriage. Leon is the next big city, so there would be enough to keep me amused on the layover and a more comfortable place for Mark to rest. We asked the hospitaliero (albergue owner) about the bus and he told us that we could catch the 8:00 back to Burgos and from there, go on to Leon. So the next day, when all of our fellow travellers strapped on their packs and headed out for their day´s journey, Mark and I headed down to the town´s sole gas station to catch the bus. You´ve never seen two such dejected and sad souls as Mark and I as we got on that bus, exiled from the Camino!
Oddly enough, things got better in the Burgos bus station. First, we met a woman from Luxemberg who was catching a bus to Madrid. She told us she had gotten a shin splint, kept walking and burst a blood vessel. She went to a doctor who told her that she needed a minimum 10 days bed rest, so she was heading home to take care of herself. That at least confirmed that we were doing the right thing, despite the disappointment.
Next, we met two wonderful Australian woman. One was a working Mom from Tasmania. The other was a very flamboyant woman from Brisbayne (polka dot hat - you have to love it), who had lived all of the world with multiple husbands. She was telling me that she was loving the Camino although she really didn´t like to walk (huh???) and so they were basically doing the Camino via bus. Mark was talking to the lady from Tasmania and, bless her little heart, found out that she was a physiotherapist. She gracefully offered to take a look at his leg and said that if he really was careful, he could probably be back his feet in three to four days. She gave him a regimen to follow and wished us luck. We boarded the bus to Leon in considerably better spirits and decided that we really ought to try to make the best of being in Leon instead of beating ourselves up for having to interrupt the Camino.
When we arrived in early afternoon, the city had already shut down for siesta. We walked the half mile from the bus station to the information booth to get a map of the city and some clue on hotels, but it was closed. Mark was pretty much in agony at this point, so I went off to walk the neighborhood and try to find a hotel. Now let me be very honest that I have absolutely no linguistic skills. Despite clear intentions, my Spanish is basically non-existant, so unless the desk clerk is either bilingual or psychic, I can´t make myself understood, and on the rare occassion that I manage to string a couple of words together correctly, I have absolutely no idea what they are saying in response. I took my fractured Spanish to five hotels only to be told that there were no rooms available. I was totally frazzled when I finally found a room in a one-star hotel but for one night only. The kindest thing that I can say about the room was that it didn´t have bunk beds, but nonetheless, I was grateful to find something. I went back and got Mark, found some ice and we spent the afternoon icing down his shin.
At 5:30, we headed back to the information booth to get the map and figure out where we were going to stay for the rest of our time in Leon. I have to digress a little here because this is truly miraculous. Over the past two weeks, Mark has somehow learned Spanish. He knew a few words when we came over and totally hated the Spanish tapes that we had studied. But all of sudden, he´s speaking Spanish incredibly well. I´m sure his grammar is lacking, but we had dinner the other night with a man who only spoke Spanish and Mark engaged him in a conversation for a full three course meal. I don´t get it - it´s like he´s been touched by Berlitz. In any case, within an hour of leaving the information booth, he had managed to find a cozy room in a charming pension on a sun flooded square for the rest of the stay. He had also found me the English version of Anna Quindlen´s latest novel, had a lengthy consultation with a pharmacist en espanol on the benefits of ibuprofen versus feldene for a shin splint (600 mg of ibuprofen won out - less chance of stomach irritation), found an internet cafe and had purchased a large slice of local apple tarta for a bedtime snack. He´s the best person in the universe to travel with even when he´s totally gimpy! By 7:00 that evening, we were comfortably sitting with a beer in a cafe in front of the cathedral bathed in sunlight and watching the Friday night work crowd pour through the streets. He looked at me and said "It´s hard to believe that only 12 hours ago, we were so miserable standing in front on the gas station. Life seems pretty good now.¨ Point well taken - lesson learned.
So now it is Saturday afternoon. We have moved to our pension (corner room with five windows - score!) Mark is upstairs with a cold compress on his leg and has been off of his feet for most of the day. I´m sitting in the hotel bar with a cup of cafe con leche and a flat panel monitor (double score). We´ll see what happens with his leg. If it heals, we´re headed straight back to the Camino. If it´s not better by Monday or Tuesday, we´ll probably have to stop here and try to pick up the trip again next year. While we´re really hoping for the former, we also know that we´ve had a fantastic experience up to this point, and if we have to abort, it won´t be the end of the world. So if you have any good wishes to spare, please send them our way. I´ll let you know what happens!

The Spirit is Willing, But the Body . . .

It's a funny thing when you take a couple hundred highly enthusiastic, slightly neurotic hikers and tell them to go take a 500 mile hike. In the beginning, everyone is going all out, albeit at different speeds. Inevitably, however, everybody hits a wall. Doing a 15 mile hike isn't that big of deal for most of these folks, but after doing a 15 mile hike ten times in a row, the body starts to protest. The ace bandage has now become the fashion accessory of choice for those of us who started in France. We met several 30 something males (sorry to stereotype), who spoke of their intent to knock off the Camino in 25 days. We have been surprised to see each of them recently as they should be miles and miles ahead of us. But there they were, back in the pack with us, nursing various ailments.
Personally, I have been somewhat of a medical mess. After hiking 30 miles in my new boots before we left, they turned on me and I immediately had blisters on both heels. I've got tendonitis, an edema on my ankle and something funky going on with my knee, and that's just my left leg! So you may be wondering how does one get medical attention on the Camino? Well, it's pretty simple. You get medical advise from anyone in the vicinity that speaks your particular language. My primary care physician is Mark. Not only can he do magic with a square inch of mole skin and an ace bandage, but he is carrying every medicine known to the Western world in his backpack. As a consultative staff, I have a trio of Canadians who we've befriended - a barber, a school administrator and a social worker. While they tend to have one prescription for all ailments (put a cold bag of ice on whatever hurts, and a c0ld glass of beer in your free hand), I must say that I admire their approach!

The physical impact of the Camino has led to a wonderful concept called the Rest Day. It's where you pick a city of interest, get a hotel room (note: not an albergue) and spend a full day with NO BACKPACK. For us, the Rest Day occured in Burgos. Burgos is a really beautiful place - full of life. One funny thing about Spain is that most of the churches have been locked (apprarently, there have been some pilferings). There's something very disheartening about a locked church. One of the first things we noticed about Burgos was that, not only are the churches open, but when we ducked our heads in for a peek, most of them had some kind of service in progress. The whole city felt open and welcoming. Burgos is full of beautifully maintained gothic buildings, the centerpiece of which is a 12 Century cathedral, There are several large public squares around the cathedral with lively cafes and tons of comfortable benches. There is a tremendous mix of visitors and citizens milling around. It is the perfect place to spend a sunny fall afternoon. And so we did. And as we strolled about, we ran into about a dozen people we knew - the sisters from Australia, the Welch locksmith, the French singer from Granon along with her little entourage, the three Italien students. We knew more people in that square than we do when we walk down the Pearl Street mall in Boulder . And everyone was so glad to see each other, and everyone was luxurating in the glory of a Rest Day! Top it off with dinner in a nice restaurant and a nice bottle of wine, and you've pretty much discovered heaven on earth.

So now we're back on the road. We woke up planning to go for 18 miles, but Mark developed a shin splint so we stopped after 12 miles. Although he is resisting it, I am the only native English speaker in this albergue, so I get dibs on being his primary. We'll see what I can conjure up - I'm thinking
another Rest Day may be in order!

Sleeping Arrangements

One of the big lessons on this trip is that the old adage about judging a book by it´s cover also holds true for albergues. There are basically three types of albergues - municipal, private and church sponsored. The municipal albergues tend to be very well equipped and efficient. They almost always have internet, sheets on the mattresses, and sometimes even have a washer and dryer. And they´re cheap (about 5 euro or $7). But they put as many people in a room as they can cram in, which usually means that you´re sleeping with 20-30 people. As you crawl into bed (generally lights out at 10:00), you lay in the dark praying that there are no major snorers in the group. I actually read a British pìece on Snore Rage (the uncontrollable urge to put a pillow over a fellow travelers face to cure his or her snoring issues) in a church-sponsored bulletin! The private albergues are owned by a family. They charge a few euros more, but you get more creature comforts - less people to room, colored paint on the walls and an occassional pillow. Then there are the church-sponsored albergues. While the others look after your comfort, the church looks after your soul. No internet, less modern showers. They don´t charge anything (just ask for donations) and include both breakfast and dinner in the deal. But you have to participate in the cleaning of the albergue and the preparation of the meals. Any takers on which type we like best? Well, I´ll answer that by telling a little story.
We stayed in a very small town in Navarette that had two albergues - one private, one church. We came to the church one first so it´s the one we went to. (Side note: after walking for 6-7 hours with a 22 pound pack on your back, you have no idea how grateful you are when you go to an albergue and ask about space and they tell you that the have room for you. The other option is to keep walking until you come to the next albergue, which could be another five six miles down the road). When we were shown the sleeping accomodations, I was literally shocked. It was a room with a platform built onto three of the walls. Mattresses had been placed side by side on the platform so that you were in really close proximity to your neighbors on both sides. No personal space in this albergue. The matresses looked like they had seen better days. Last year, there had been a bed bug breakout on the Camino and I immediately knew where it had started. This place looked like a flop house. But, as I said, you´re always grateful that there a space at all for you, so I chose a mattress in the corner next to the wall and hoped for the best. After our showers and clothes wash, we went outside and discovered that there was a winery a couple of hundred yards from our albergue. A couple of us went down to see if we could get a tour - we couldn´t but they sold us a couple of bottles of wine which we brought back to the albergue. Everyone staying there was sitting at the tables in front of the albergue just reading or writing in their journals and soaking up the late afternoon sun. We broke open the bottles and soon had a little cocktail party going. Our hosts were a brother and sister from Montreal who volunteered to run the albergue for three weeks. They were unbelievably hospitable and had made friends with some of their elderly neighbors. The neighbors came out and joined us, so we had the marvelous mix of people from all over the world, people who were traveling and people who were staying, the very young and the very old. After that we all ate our evening meal. The next morning, the Canadian couple put out not only the manditory bread and jam for breakfast, but blackberrys and figs that they had picked the previous day. We left the albergue with such a warm feeling. From then on, we´ve stayed at the church albergues whenever possible.
By far, our most special evening was in a very small town called Granon. Another church albergue, this one with no mattress - just a pad on the floor. It was located in the church building. We hung our wet laundry in the bell tower to dry! After dinner, they walked us through a dark corridor into the church. Although Granon is small, it has a very fine church that is in good repair. The altar is typical Spanish - very ornate and very gold. I believe it was 15 or 16 century - massive stone blocks repleat with beautiful arches. Our corridor led us to the top of the church to the choir chairs. There were no lights on in the church - just votive candles on each arm of the carved wood choir chairs. We took our places in the chairs and they started a little service consisting of a Travellers Prayer, which was read by each group represented in their own language - Spanish, French, Italian, Japanese, English, Danish and German. An older Danish couple sang a couple of hymns (in beautiful harmony) and then this French girl got up and announced that she´d like to sing for us. Instead of singing towards us, she turned towards the altar and sang to the front of the church. She had an outstanding voice and the church was filled with some of the most beautiful music I¨ve ever heard. Her voice just resonated off the stone walls. When she was done, most people in the church were crying - it was just one of those wonderful moments!
Just one last albergue story - when we were in Vianna (wonderful larger village with beautifully maintained historic buildings) we stayed at a municipal albergue. The modicum of efficiency, it had bunk beds stacked three high with very clean sheets, multiple showers and two internet terminals! There were probably 80 people in the albergue in total spread over five rooms. After lights out, one poor woman got the giggles. She simply could not stop laughing. The more she went on, the more obvious it became that she had had one too many glasses of wine at dinner. After about 30 minutes of this, others in the albergue started to get angry. We´re all pretty tired at the end of the day and you have to get up at 6:00 so sleep is very important. One man finally got up and asked her to stop. He tried to reason with her but that´s very difficult to do with someone who´s overdone the wine. Next, a woman got up and pleaded with her to be quiet as we all will have a long day tomorrow. That too was to no avail. The first man then went back in her room and basically threatened her. That led to a brief exchange where it was deteremined that it wasn´t the individual character that was causing the disruption but an issue with everyone of her nationality. Then all hell broke out. Strings of curse words that made me blush (impressively, the whole argument occurred in English), the woman´s husband trying to broker peace - it just went on and on. It ended with the woman (Sheila) being escorted out of the albergue by her husband who was yelling at her the whole way. So now when Mark asks me where I want to stay, my answer is always the same: I don´t care as long as Sheila isn´t there!

Six Degrees of Separation

A quick post script to our night in Cirauqui, it turns out that the night we were there was their annual festival. Now this is a very small town - about 500 people. When we came into the city, we could hear music blaring. There was a live band playing very wonderful Spanish music in a small pavillion but we weren´t sure what the occassion was. Just before dinner, the person running the alburgue sent us down to the town square to watch the Basque Strongman competition. The town had set up a mini-arena in the center of town and had manned two teams to compete in various feats of strength. It started out with a best 2 out of 3 tug-of-war and ended with a localized relay race. The contestents ran around the perimeter of the arena with 20 pounds of rice, followed by other team members sawing a log with a two-man saw and ending with a speed race based upon running to pick up blocks of wood and tossing them into a basket. They did three rounds, each time wearing down the contestants pretty substantially. The crowd was wild with cheering. The whole town was in the square and the sangria was flowing. Two ladies dragged me into the arena and told me to pick up a rice bag so I could see how heavy it was. It was an unbelievable experience and those of us who were guests felt very lucky to be part of the crowd! After the races, we went to dinner and then to bed. The rest of the town stayed in the town square for more live music and dancing. It went until 4:00 AM. As you can imagine, those of us who were desparate for sleep were pretty miserable as the music was so loud. But we managed to catch a couple of hours of solid sleep in the early morning hours.
Now, Eric Harrison, if you´re out there, we had dinner that evening with Gerard Brosnan from your London office. I´m not sure if you know him, but he sure knows you! Not to worry - I didn´t tell him any stories that he can use in future discussions to negotiate an unmerited career advancement. He was very nice and we enjoyed talking to him. We decided that he´s a Type A Private Equity Pilgrim . . . a Pilgrim with a Blackberry!
We walked 19 miles today - it was beautiful but we´re beat. We´ll catch up soon!

Oh The People You´ll Meet

When I was in 6th grade, my best friends family put in a koi p0nd that ran the length of their backyard. I remember spending the summer sitting by the pond, drinking lemonade, plotting out our lives and watching the fish. The fish had very different personalities; some swam up the length of the pool and then back down, while others meandered from side to side. I had a flashback to that koi pond as I watched people attacking the Camino. Some people are on a mission to get through the walk quickly - they walk long and hard. Others meander down the path, stopping to nose around the villages and grab a coffee whenever it´s available. When we first started the trip, everyone was on the same schedule because there was no choice but to make it to the next albergue. But now that we are four days in, the villages are getting closer and people are beginning to spread out amongst the towns. Tonight, we are in Cirauqui, about 20 miles west of Pamplona. We read a lot about how hard to find rooms in the albergues during the summer and people started hiking competitively to ensure that they´d find a bed for the night. There's been none of that in our trip - everyone is walking at their own pace and there's always been a couple of beds to spare.
We´ve met a lot of people so far from all over the world, but most from France and Spain. The albergues are getting smaller - tonight we're down to 12 in a room. By far our favorite encounter has been with a trio who we call the Rolley Boys. They are three septagenarians from Oregon who have eschewed backpacks and are pulling roller board suitcases down the Camino! We spotted them on the first day (you couldn´t miss them) and were seriously worried about them. They looked a little odd among all the backpackers. But we had dinner with them a couple of nights ago and they actually did this before three years ago (and made it into the Compostela news for the feat!). They have been friends since high school but went very different ways: one into academia, one into the clergy and one into the military. They have remained steadfast friends and still vacation together. I can´t help but admire a 70 year old who still has the will and the strength to walk 500 miles so even though they look a little odd, I say "Roll on, gentlemen!"
Thanks to everyone who sent on best wishes to Mark. He has totally recovered - in fact, today he sang me his complete repetoire of gospel music (I know, it was scary). It´s day four and we haven´t had to walk in the rain yet - keep your fingers crossed!

Hola From Spain!

We´ve had a couple of very busy days. Our flights were non-eventful (truly a good thing), but it still took us 24 hours from leaving Boulder to checking into our hotel room in Biarritz, France. Biarritz was supposed to be the place that we crashed after the long journey, but it turns out that it´s (a) a really fun town and (b) we felt fine when we got there so we spent a very sunny afternoon walking around the city. It´s basically a tourist town right on the Atlantic. There were still lots of visitors sunbathing on the beach and swimming (yes, we managed to go stick our toes into the ocean and it was very pleasant!). This is the Basque region of France so there´s a significant Spanish influence. Many of the hotels put out gigantic paella pans on their patios and made the night´s dinner in full view of all the passers by - it was a gorgeous sight! We passed on that, though, and settled for some al fresco dining on moules and frites!
This morning we set out to Rouncevalles, walking over the Pyranees. It was a 15 mile day and we climbed more than 4200 feet . . . and just when our feet and legs were screaming, we had to come down about 1200 feet. All told, it took seven hours. But it was a really beautiful climb - the weather was just sparkling. All along the path, we cut through the Basque farms, repleat with herds of long-haired sheep. At times, their bells were so loud it almost sounded like a musical performance!
Unfortunately, Mark wasn´t feeling too well (a bad Biarritz moule, perhaps?), so I didn´t get the usual rendition of Climb Every Mountain. That´s okay - he´s feeling better now and we have more mountains to get over.
We´re all settled into our albergue with our 118 closest friends. It´s a massive room filled with bunk beds - brings me back to traveling though Europe when I was in college. Except most people traveling at this time of year are our age or older. Lots of moaning and groaning as people lay down on their bunks!
We have some awesome pictures but they´ll have to wait - Mark has the camera and he´s otherwise disposed at the moment. I promise we´ll have them ready to share on the next posting.

Off We Go!

First we tell you that we’re leaving California for Colorado and now we’re on the move again! You may be thinking “What are they doing?” Really, it’s just another hike - but a very long one that will take us along one of the ancient routes used by religious pilgrims for centuries to pray at the remains of St. James, housed in the cathedral in Compostela, Spain. We’ll be walking the Camino Frances, from the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains in France and continuing across Northern Spain to Compostela – 496 miles and almost five weeks to be exact. And we definitely won’t be lonely in this venture – over 80,000 people have walked to Compostela so far this year. We’re not in search of St. James but out to experience a slice of Iberia on foot reasonably far away from the modern daily grind. But as 21st Century pilgrims, we’ll partake in the modern pleasures and vino of Spain!
“Why are you doing this?” We’d actually been talking about doing something like this for quite a while. When we hung up our corporate shoes and put on our hiking boots last spring, an extended trek was the first thing that we put on the To Do list. We’ll be walking through beautiful countryside, staying in small, picturesque villages, sampling Spain’s great food and wine and enjoying Spain’s temperate (hopefully) climate on foot.
“How exactly does this work?” The trek will take us through small hamlets across Spain. We carry our clothes, a sleeping bag and our lunch in a backpack. Most nights, we’ll stay in an albergue; a dormitory open to registered pilgrims along the Camino. We’ll register with the Camino Office in France as cultural pilgrims and will be given a passport, which will give us access to the albergues, as well as a scallop shell, the symbol of the Camino de Santiago, which we carry on the back of our packs. Most albergues will give us a bunk with a mattress, and a hot shower, and occasional internet connection. From our reading, ear plugs are a must as there will be up to 50 people sleeping and snoring in the same room. We’ll be bunking with people from all over the world, diverse in age, background and motivation for making this journey. So we expect to meet a lot of interesting people! We’ll average about 15 miles a day, passing through three to four villages, mostly founded in the 15th and 16th centuries. The path takes us across a lot of farmland, and we’re looking forward to watching and dining on the harvest. This is the Spain’s version of a hut to hut. As you can imagine, there is a real incentive to bring as little on the route as possible and packing has been a semi-traumatic experience as we come to grips with the idea of a very limited wardrobe selection. No doubt, we’ll look like true pilgrims when we pull into Compostela!
We’ve been working hard this summer to prepare for the trip, taking advantage of building up our legs and lungs in our new backyard of the Rocky Mountains. We made an attempt to pick up some of the language (hours of Spanish tapes on a Wyoming road trip) and we have our Berlitz phrase book handy! We’re going to celebrate our completion of the trek by meeting up with our friend Katie Zoglin who’s spending the year in Morocco with the American Bar Association. We’ll be going on a safari in the Sahara and are looking forward to riding instead of hiking, even though our "wheels" will be in the form of a camel
Tomorrow we start by walking out our door in Boulder to the bus for the plane, to the train and then giving up public transport and climbing the Pyrenees on Saturday. We'll keep you posted throughout the trip!