So Hot

It was so hot.  

Hot, chaud, caliente.

Pilgrims trudged and roasted.  When they greeted other pilgrims they commented about the weather.  It was melting everyone's minds.  The weather was all that anyone could think or talk about.   

It was so hot that I began to wilt. 

It was so hot that I started getting heat rash in unmentionable places.  

It was so hot that my sunscreen melted.  I didn't even know that was possible but the oil and the cream actually began to separate.  

It was so hot that the water in my camelback hose actually was the temperature of tea.  

It was so hot that even though I had consumed over 6 liters I only remember urinating twice in 24 hours (although admittedly my brain was not fully functioning in the heat). 

It was so hot that the earth was cracked and dusty.  I felt cracked and dusty too. 

Roasted, toasted, fried, baked, broiled, boiled, cooked, melted, nuked.   

At the end of the day I sat down for dinner and the local lady said “mucho color” pointing to my face.                                                                                                            

"Yeah, so hot!" I muttered.  I literally couldn't think of anything else to say.    

Mr. Clean

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.

Pamplona

I walked through the beautiful city of Pamnplona to a very modest hostel in Cizor Menor.   I only stopped briefly for dinner (not pork!!) and some gelato.   I decided to go on, which Yeonjoo whom I had travelled with all day decided to stay.  I should have stayed as evidenced by the text exchange with Yeonjoo.  She made the much smarter choice.  

ME - Arrived at municipal albergue. The private ones are definitely better! Hope the private house is even more amazing!!

YEONJOO -I hate to tell you but I must;  I had a long bath, lady fed me paella and tomato, cucumber salad.  Did laundry of today's dirty ones and hang them outside the window like everyone else.  I am walking around the toro plaza, where bull fight parade starts.  What took you so long to get in finally?

ME - I was in a while ago but stretching and showering was priority!!

A second text from Yeonjoo was insult to injury.

YEONJOO - I went to mercado to get 4 packs of yogurt, one big bottle of kefir, 5 tomatoes and 4 plums for 6.30 euros.  Weather is going to be going upto near 90 deg for next week. 

There is really nothing more to add to this post as I am still kicking myself for my (what I hope to be temporary) idiocy.   

Pork

Five meals in a row that contain pork is at least four too many.  It may in fact be five too many.  The El Camino guidebooks do not mention this fact or provide this important insight. 

I got my Pilgrim passport at the Pilgrim office right when they opened at 7:30a.m.  The man that was helping me actually covered his ears when I attempted to speak with him in French.  I really need to work on my language skills, but I thought that the ear covering was a little unnecessary, especially since my attempts were genuine.  Regardless I obtained the passport and then headed out down the road, following the seashell fleck amarillos that point the way.

The walk through St. Jean was beautiful.  The streets narrow, twisty and cobblestoned.  There is a beautiful small river that runs through the town  with multiple bridges and arched doorways.  The charm  palpable.  For example, when I walked down the trail there was actually an old woman sitting on some steps petting her dog and singing in French as I walked by. The sound of her voice echoed against the stone walls of the buildings.  It was unbelievably  beautiful.

I stopped at a small store for some food. 

“Uhhhh…je veux un sandwich” I said in my slow search for each word kind of French.

“D’accord!  I will make you a ham and cheese!?” The shopkeeper asked exuberantly.

“Oui.”  I replied, I wasn’t sure how to explain anything else if I would have wanted it anyhow.  And so my meals began.

The bread was amazingly fresh, the ham and cheese sliced very thinly, almost like a prosciutto with a sharp cheese, perhaps a Parmesan.  It was delicious and it was pilgrim sized. 

I began walking.  I was part of a throng of people, pilgrims everywhere.  I am sure I saw hundreds.  Hearing different languages all up the trail.

I chose to walk via the Route de Napolean.  Which my guidebook informed me was “the longest and most arduous route, but the most beautiful and spectacular.  It was the way favored by the great French general to get his troops in and out of Spain during the Eninsula War and by medieval pilgrims anxious to avoid the bandits hiding in the trees surrounding the lower routes.”  I imagine that this route would have amazing views.  I could feel the vast openness, but I could only see a few meters in front of me through the dense fog.  It was like hiking on a typical day in Seattle, a cold constant drizzle with gusting winds to cool you down.

I stopped briefly at Orrison, to get a quick bite to eat.  I wanted some fresh fruit as I was worried about my lack of fiber from the white bread ham and cheese sandwich.  I ordered a fruit cup, imagining a fresh fruit cubes.  Instead I was given a small container of canned fruit.  It was akin to the pop top canned fruit that a child would get in their lunch pail.  It was in a plastic container with a small spoon under the lid.  Regardless of the discrepancy between my expectations and reality, the sweet of the fruit juice was welcome and delicious.  I ate a few more bites of the ham and cheese sandwich.  

About 2 minutes past Orrion I ran into three large pigs.  Literally!  I have never been walking and then run into pigs!  (I should have paid attention to their presence and their foreshadowing in my story!)  They oinked and snorted their way down the road. Above the pigs I could hear the cow bells jangling on both the cattle and the horses that were wearing them.  The animals were right along the road grazing as the pilgrims walked past.  To say it was pastoral seems the best adjective, yet somewhat inadequate because it was just over the top quaint and charming. 

“Bonjour cheval.” I called out to a horse as I walked by.  It didn’t even look up at me. I probably offended the horse with my poor French too!  The horses appear to be small work horses.  They look like miniature Clydesdales.

Their large hooves clomping quietly on the rain softened ground.  I passed a shepard and his three sheepdogs.  There was a flock of sheep grazing nearby.  I couldn’t see them all through the thickness of the fog, but the sheep could be heard in the distance.  No wonder the cheese here is so amazing.

Approximately 5km past Orrison up the road was the most welcome roadside van and awning.  A gentleman was selling fresh hardboiled eggs, bananas, coffee, tea, chocolate bars. 

I think that the roadside gentleman asked me if I was cold, he came up to me and put his hands on my bare arms and then made a shivering motion.

I had to concede.  I pulled on my wool long sleeved shirt and put on my rain jacket.  I ordered a hot chocolate and a banana.  I ate some more of my ham and cheese sandwich. 

The top of the climb on my first day was Col de Lepoeder, followed by a steep descent into Roncesvalles.  This downhill trail was quite slippery in several places from the wet leaves and rocks.  Roncesvalles is home to a huge hostel, over 180 beds.  It was crawling with pilgrims.  The name of the town means “valley of thorns” and it definitely has a medieval atmosphere.  The large Romaneque chapel loomed over the pilgrim trail.

On my descent I met Yeonjoo a chiropractor from New Mexico.  She was walking my pace.  I think that she was planning to stop at Roncesvalles, but we were both feeling well so we continued on to Espinal. 

The hostel where we stayed in Espinal had a pilgrim menu.  Because of the language barrier (now Spanish) and since they knew were were pilgrims, they must have just assumed that was what we wanted.  The appetizer was a plate of spaghetti with red sauce.  The main plate was French fries with three large slices of pork.  The thick layer of fat and the generous marbling gave the meat an unappetizing sheen.  The meal ended with an ice cream bar.  

And the next morning my best available meal option was a choizo sandwich.  (If the saying "you can put lipstick on a pig, but it is still a pig" doesn't come to mind here it should!!). Much to my dismay, the sandwich was large.  Enough to last both for both breakfast and lunch. 

Traveling

When I got to my seat, 18H, for my flight from Seattle to Amsterdam I was pleased to see that the ticketing agent hadn’t lied about it being an aisle seat.  I am somewhat fanatical about my walking and stretching schedule during long flights after my buddy got a DVT during his flight to Nepal.  I also like being able to go to the bathroom without having to climb over a fellow passenger.   However, I was not pleased to see that the passenger in the window seat had spread out his belongings onto my seat.  He was definitely not following airplane etiquette. 

“Umm, that is my seat.” I said pointing to his various travel accessories.

“When I selected my seat there wasn’t anyone sitting beside me.” He informed me.  He didn't move his stuff.

“Well sorry to disappoint.” I said and then held up my boarding pass as proof of my seat assignment.  “They assigned my seat just a few minutes ago at the gate.”

He looked annoyed as he gathered up his belongings off my seat.  

This has the potential to be a very long flight I thought as I sat down beside the man who was radiating with irritation. 

I was grateful that noise cancelling headphones had been a last minute addition to my pack.  I plugged in a listened to some music and blocked out both the airplane noise and the attitude in the seat next to me.   

And it was a long flight.  Is it ever easy to fly across an ocean?  I would like to test the first class seats someday to see if perhaps that would make trans Atlantic travel more pleasant.  I think perhaps it might.  Have you ever noticed that even the floor is softer in first class?  Seriously, even the carpeting underlay was more plush.  Talk about attention to details.  

Finally the plane landed in Amsterdam.  I love the Schipol airport.  It is so immaculate.  I almost feel that I could eat off the floors there.  Well, not really, but the whole airport just seems to sparkle.  The last time that I had been there was when I flew through on my way to climb Kilimanjaro with my mother for her 60th birthday.  I was reminded of that awesome adventure and began to look forward to my upcoming adventure. 

The flight from Amsterdam to Paris was uneventful.  Followed by an easy flight from Paris to Biarritz. 

Biarritz was the end of my planning.  I still needed to figure out how to get to St. Jean.   

A young couple wearing performance fabrics, backpacks and hiking boots were milling around the baggage claim area.  I almost walked away, determined to figure out things on my own but then I changed my mind approached them.  I figured safety in numbers and all that jazz.   

“Are you guys walking El Camino?” I asked.  I was 99% sure that the answer would be yes.  

“Yes” they replied.

Imagine my delight when I found out that they were fellow Canadians, their long vowels gave them away before they confirmed it, which I am told by default makes them "nice".   They actually were very friendly. 

Daniella, originally from Mexico and Mike, originally from Denmark, now both resided in Toronto.  They were going to be pilgrims for the next two weeks.  

"How are you getting to St. Jean?" I asked them. 

"We are going to take a taxi," they replied.   

I asked them if they would mind if I joined them and I could help split the fare.  While waiting in line at the taxi queue they commented on the small size of my backpack.  They were complaining that their packs were uncomfortable.  I helped them adjust their pack straps, and they seemed relieved and grateful after some pack fitting. 

The taxi was somewhat expensive.  130 Euro for the trip, but split between the three of us ended up being about 43 Euro to get to the start of El Camino.  I figured in the end that this was a good deal and it got me to St. Jean quickly.  

The taxi driver spoke very little English, basically none.  He spoke mostly French and a little bit of Spanish, which was helpful since Danielle could communicate with him.  I was in the front seat of the cab and I tried to ask the driver some basic questions.  The communication was very limited and halting, however I definitely understood that our taxi driver had 3 children and 2 grandchildren.  You could tell that he was proud of this fact.  He drove a taxi and I think that he talked about also working as a fisherman.  I tried to ask him if he had ever hiked El Camino.  I think that he said that he had to keep working for his children.  I think that he tried to tell me that his wife was dead, however I had no idea how to clarify that statement with my French vocabulary.  There was a certain sadness to the conversation that I detected however and then he summarized by saying “C’est la vie” at the end of his explanation. Everyone has an interesting story I thought.  I wanted to know his story more.  I quickly determined that my  completion of the first two chapters of Rosetta Stone was completely inadequate.  He talked about how Biarritz is a great place for surfing and he pointed out a river that we were driving along and said that this was popular for white water rafting.  Daniella asked him about the weather forecast in Spanish.  He said that the weather had been excellent recently and that it was supposed to continue.  “No rain.” He assured us.

When we arrived in St. Jean, the taxi driver dropped us off in the center of town.  Some of the side roads where the pilgrims hostels are were not accessible by car, but it was a very quick walk, only a couple of blocks from the drop point.  He wished us luck and I couldn’t believe that the stars had aligned and I was actually in St. Jean.  I had been so worried that I wasn’t going to be able to find anyone to share a taxi with and that I was going to have to get a hotel in Biarritz and then take the train the following morning, which would have been a huge hassle and resulted in a late start to the following day.

Daniella and Mike had made reservations at a hostel in advance.  I decided to see if there was any space for me.  In this I was not so lucky.  I was sent away.  I wandered around the town briefly and landed at the Albergue Perin.  For 17.5 Euro I had a bunk and a hot shower.  It was clean and everything that I needed.  I tiptoed around on the squeaky floorboards. Most of the other pilgrims were already there sleeping.

I was ready to sleep too, my eyes were dry and blood shot from all the travel, then start my adventure the next day.  

Airports

"I guess it is too late to back out now?" I said to my husband Brian this morning.  

"Yep, too late," he confirmed while he added chopped green onion to some eggs he was preparing for breakfast. He didn't seem to be taking my question very seriously.

And so I kept packing and sorting and organizing and cleaning and did all the little things that I thought needed to be done.  Nothing that actually really needed to be done.  In the morning I went to Bartells to buy the tiny medication ziploc packets so that I could take some Advil and multivitamins in an organized fashion.  Nervous errands.    

Brian worked on organizing my i-phone to make sure I have space for the photos he is encouraging me to take.  I am not the photographer in the relationship.  I say I prefer to take pictures in my mind.  Brian has been mocking me with a wide eyed simultaneous blink and head nod and clicking sound saying "this is how you take pictures".

"This is something that you have wanted to do for years," Brian reminded me.  

I knew it was true. Of course.  An epic adventure.  A spiritual pilgrimage.  A small break from the mundane rhythm of life.  

But the what ifs are swirling in my mind.  What if I get bored?  What if I get hurt?  What if I am robbed?  What if I lose my passport?  Losing a passport has been a huge fear of mine for as long as I can remember.  What if I can't even think of the bad things that could happen to me? 

Deep breath.   

But what if I learn that I am stronger than I think I am?  What if I can find something interesting in boredom?  What if I am the recipient of generosity that moves my spirt?  What if I can't even think of all the amazing things that could happen to me? 

They are about to call my flight.  The eager passengers are congregating around the gate area and there is the palpable energy and motion of people about to go somewhere.  The collective fidgeting and foot tapping and luggage shuffling.  One woman in a T-shirt with a denim jacket tied around her waist rocks back and forth on her heels.  Her hands clench and then she begins popping each of her finger knuckles with her thumb one at a time.  I feel a kinship for her and her nervous vibe. 

The overhead speaker announces "All passengers, all rows." 

And it is time to join the traveller throng.  

The Pack

I am getting ready to walk El Camino.  After much deliberation and consultation of various packing lists, my El Camino pack contains the following:

Backpack - I recently purchased a small 28 liter Deuter women's pack.  The small pack was a deliberate choice to force my hand with several other choices to keep my pack weight light.

Backpack rain cover - this is built into the bottom of the pack. 

Emergency Mylar foil bivy sack - hopefully this will prove to be superfluous. 

Long pants - 3 pairs of Marmot Lobo pants.  These are quick drying and very light weight.  I am not taking any shorts. I hope I don't regret that, but I like to have my legs covered.  The pants are SPF 50 which will hopefully help keep me clean and safe from the sun.  Is there anything worse than dust sticking to your slimely sun screened legs? 

Shirts - 3 shirts.  Two are t-shirt style performance fabric.  One is a light weight quick dry collared shirt.  This will be my "dressy" travel shirt.

Bras - 3 bras.  Finally settled on the Patagonia quick dry sports bras.  I have used these before but was unhappy with the thin straps digging into my shoulders under my pack weight.  They have been slightly re-designed to have a slightly wider strap so hopefully I won't get any new scars on my shoulders from unhealing chaffing. 

Underpants - 3 panties.  Have 3 pairs of the Patagonia active briefs.  Basically high performance quick drying granny panties.  When walking for hours at a time it is good to be wedgie-free.

Socks - 3 pairs of Wright socks.  These are a synthetic double layered sock.  The marketing for these says they are guaranteed to prevent blisters.  They have treated me well on training hikes but the verdict is still out when rubber hits the road.   

Hiking shoes - I have been wearing 8.5 Saucony brand running shoes since high school.  Hopefully the Saucony trail shoes will treat me just as well.  

"Camp shoes" - I am taking my light weight Teva flip flops. 

Rain jacket - I have a Gortex Arcteryx jacket.  Inside I have a balaclava and a pair of gloves in case of inclement weather.   I also hope that these items will be superfluous but the hat and gloves have always been part and parcel with the jacket. 

Patagonia fleece full zip jacket.  As I list out my gear I am starting to see my Patagonia affinity.  I remember one time that I overheard two guys talking on a trail about their wives catching them looking at porn, but really it was the latest Patagonia catalogue.   

Sun hat - The OR quick dry hat with protective neck and face shields.  Basically the ugliest hat I have ever worn but extremely sun protective.  My single friend used to call this hat "man-repellent", I am sure my husband will be happy about this.  

Toothbrush and toothpaste (small travel size tube that my dentist gave me recently)

Razor - The weight is totally justifiable in my opinion not so much for the leg hair but the underarm hair. 

Deodorant - I have small travel size. 

Soap - I made a small mesh bag to hold the soap so hopefully it will dry quickly and I can keep my pack relatively clean.

Camelback - I have a 2 liter platypus water bag.  

Clothes pins - seems to be an essential from all the other El Camino packing lists that I have researched so I have them.  I must also admit to I purchased a clothes pin free hanging line from REI which I am interested to test out.  

Hiking towel and hiking face cloth

Small travel loofa - This might be too bulky and perhaps I will get rid of it, but honestly, who doesn't like a good lather?

Pen and Guidebook - I am planning to just write journal entries in the guidebook as needed. 

Passport, airline tickets and ziploc bag for these documents.

Sun block lotion and sunblock lip balm

Sleeping bag liner

Inflatable sleeping pad in case of a full albergue.  I am planning for some high mile days and hope that if an albergue is full that I could at least sleep on the floor somewhere if needed.  

Toiletry bags - two mesh bags for pack organization.  I like things to be organized and easy to find. 

First aid - blister kit including some mole skin, tegaderm, Advil, Imodium. Also includes needle, thread and tiny pair of scissors.   

Ear plugs

Head lamp

Debit card, credit cards, cash

Phone - The last minute debate continues as to if this is adequate for a light weight camera option?   Much last minute discussion remains on if I should take a separate camera.  

Small foldable keyboard, on which I type right now.  Charging wires for keyboard and phone. 

Trekking poles.  I am going to get some rubber tips for the poles.  Apparently the locals don't like the clacking of metal pole tips on the pavement when walking through the small towns.  

Sunglasses with small cloth case.  

I think that is it.  Total dry weight = 15 pounds (that is under 7kg!!)  Of course it will be a little heavier with my daily water and snacks.  I am trying not to add anything extra in the next day before I depart.  I really believe that the lighter my pack the greater chance of my success.  Isn't that the way with life?  The less weight we carry, whether literally or figuratively, the easier the journey.