Above the valley of Cizor Menor is Alto del Perdon which features a larger than life size wrought iron representation of medieval pilgrims. Their heads are bent to the west winds, which is emphasized by several, perhaps a hundred, large energy windmills, their huge blades churning quietly at various speeds to power the city of Pamplona which can be seen spread out below. A fellow pilgrim took my picture in the wind. A snapshot of my own pilgrimage, stray strands of my hair blowing in the westward wind.
As I descended down into Ulterga I purchased a fresh squeezed orange juice to fuel my journey. I walked out of Ulterga through various fields. One side of the path was growing with wild blackberries and the other side dill and anise. The smell of the earthen fields was laced with sweet licorice. It was like the air had a taste all its own. An aerosolized deliciousness that needed to be breathed in.
I met two pilgrims with whom I traveled for a time. Jamie from the states and Thomas from Switzerland.
“Are you Catholic?” I overhead Jamie ask Thomas.
“I am nothing,” Thomas replied.
“I am Baptist” Jamie informed him. “You know, I love that everyone can do this El Camino. All religions and all beliefs traveling in peace together.”
“If only we could all travel together in real life,” Thomas said thoughtfully.
Indeed I thought.
Thomas was a finance controller for a tobacco company in Zurich.
“I don’t smoke,” Thomas felt the need to clarify.
I wondered how many times he had to tell people that after he told them that he worked at a tobacco company. Most of his colleagues didn't smoke either he said.
I asked him why he wanted to hike El Camino.
“You know, life has a tendency of becoming routine,” he paused and then went on. “Sometimes I try to change my routines. I will drive to work a different way, or try to do something different in my day, but here on El Camino every moment is not routine. Every moment is new.” He walked ahead a few paces, “See that view?” He asked as he swept his arms out framing the hills ahead.
“It is new, every moment is new.”
I thought about this a lot. Firstly will Thomas be disappointed with the ensuing routine of El Camino? Can walking become routine? And how can I have more new moments when I go back to my “real” life?
My feet were killing me at Maneru. I stopped to inspect them. I was extremely disappointed to see a huge blister (larger than a 2 Euro coin) under the ball of my left foot. I was distraught. Foot issues can slow down my El Camino progress substantially. The blister treatment that I have been told of here is to pierce the blister with a threaded needle and run it through the blister so that the fluid can release down the thread. Having never done this before I took a deep breath and pulled a threaded needle through my blister. I was disgusted to see blood tinged blister fluid pouring all over my foot and dripping in between my toes. I don’t know if there is a special type of thread that is supposed to be used, but the kind that I had felt like little barbed wires being dragged through the most sensitive skin imaginable.
"Now what?" I asked Thomas and Jamie who were watching.
"I think you are supposed to leave the thread in." Jamie said.
" Are you sure?" I asked doubtfully. I couldn't imagine that it would be very comfortable to walk with a thread in my foot. Wouldn't it get infected or break the blister open?
Jamie conceded that he wasn't sure.
I was stuck with a threaded needl in my food. It hurt so much that I didn't want to pull it through. I finally clipped the thread so that I only had a little bit to pull through, took a deep breath and then slowly so as not to break the blister, I pulled the remaining thread out of my body.
"Ugh, that is so gross." I informed them.
My foot still hurt, but marginally less so, so I continued to walk on.
I pushed myself to get to Villatuerta Puente, a small village but the guide book reported that there was an albergue with a relaxing yard, complete with several hammocks. The real selling point was “massage and healing available.” Yes please!! I hobbled into the albergue and asked about the massage straight away. After I had been signed up for the massage (I only paid for the 30 minutes "single area" option instead of the full body treatment) I asked about the blister treatment for "donations". I needed my feet and legs to be sorted out.
Finally the massage therapist was ready for me. He looked like Mr. Clean, in that older gentleman that is slightly buff sort of way. He was wearing a white fitted T-shirt. Did he have an earring or was that just my mind playing tricks on me? He was wearing white crocs. There was something very comforting to me about the white crocs, like all medical professionals have a gravitation towards ugly comfortable shoes.
"Melissa?" He called my name.
"Yes. Si!" I replied and limped to the massage room.
I showed him my blisters that I needed help with. He nodded and then he brought out a pair of scissors and poured alcohol all over them! Wait! This looked very serious!! I tried to explain that I thought blisters were supposed to be dealt with via the needle and thread option with creative hand signals. He shook his head and "no" this was “synthetico” and "no bueno".
The language barrier was significant, but I figure that he has probably seen thousands of blisters. I tried to relax. I mean who doesn’t trust Mr. Clean? He lanced open my blisters and after what felt like much manipulation, although admittedly it was probably less than a minute, they were drained. He then poured in an antiseptic liquid into the blisters. I was completely unprepared for the burning and stinging. I felt so drained and frustrated and sore. I began to cry. It was embarrassing, I mean after all he was helping me, but he didn’t seem surprised at all. He said in his heavily accented English “this is the Camino, eh?” And he proceeded to finish dressing my feet. Mr. Clean then repeatedly made hand gestures that started smaller and then got bigger and bigger after he pointed to my feet. I couldn't tell if he thought that my blisters were going to get bigger or if he thought that now they would not get bigger after his handiwork. I guess I will find out with time.