A Million Steps (3 page)

Day 1

Albergues

I walked past the thirteenth century Royal Collegiate Church of Roncesvalles to a white-rock courtyard and my albergue for the night. Several pilgrims enjoyed the sunshine outside the arched front door of the ancient white building. Laundry hung from three of 18 gray-shuttered windows. A very hospitable gentleman greeted me at the door and provided a warm “bienvenido.”

After waiting in a short line, I presented my credential, paid 10 Euros, and received a brilliant blue stamp. The hospitalero rewarded me with a white ticket indicating a third-floor location in bunk number 48. I showed the receipt to the man guarding the stairs, but he would not let me pass until I removed my footwear. Along the way, every albergue designates a specific boot place away from the sleeping quarters.

The exterior of the building disguised a modern interior sleeping area. Each of the three floors had 64 beds. Groups of four bunks clustered together in small enclaves. Imagine walking down a hallway and seeing windows on the right and solid light-colored wood panels, from floor to ceiling, on the left. Openings, without doors, separated the panels. This albergue supplied pristine mattresses and pillows, and provided lockers to house the contents of our packs. Each floor had two bathrooms with three toilets and three modern showers, all exceptionally clean. After the long and strenuous hike, this first soothing shower was memorable.

A laundry facility in the basement provided coin-operated machines or sinks for hand washing. I chose the basin and devised a ritual for washing and rinsing my socks, underwear, shirt, and shorts. A centrifugal spin dryer did the wringing for me. The outdoor wind and sunshine finished the job on an array of clotheslines.

Little did I know that this facility would be amongst the most luxurious on the entire Camino.

Pilgrims have three basic lodging choices on the Camino. Hotels, found in the larger towns, are the most expensive option. The middle-priced option is the pensión, or guest house. The most affordable option is the albergue, or pilgrim hostel, which can be found in every village on the route. Most days of walking took me through three or four small villages with populations ranging from 200 to 1,200 people. Each village usually had two to four places for pilgrims to rest for the night. This means there was an average of at least 10 albergue options per day.

Every albergue is unique. For any type of budget, the price is right with nightly rates ranging from four to 15 Euros. There are even a few parish facilities that simply suggest a donation. Upon arrival, the hospitalero views and stamps the credential. Each stamp becomes a work of art on the white paper of the pilgrim passport. The colorful stamps, with blue, green, black, or red ink, imprint words, dates, symbols, and graphics of buildings or pilgrims. All of the stamps include some reference to the town or specific name of the hostel.

After the stamping process is complete, pilgrims are assigned a specific bunk number. It is not like checking into a Four Seasons where a person might request a bottom bunk with extra pillows in the no-farting and no-snoring wing.

The next step is to find the specific location of the coveted berth. It is always a surprise to learn about the night’s sleeping arrangements. Some albergues have one or two large rooms full of bunks. Some have space for hundreds of tired pilgrims, and some shelter as few as 20. One memorable location had three sets of triple-decker bunk skyscrapers in each room. Another had five stand-alone beds in a single room. I think the record number of souls in a single room during my trip was 120.

The frames of the bunks range from very sturdy to completely flimsy. Any movement on one tier can quickly become a shared experience. Many of the arrangements have some type of barrier at the foot of the bed, which became an issue for my long body. Heaven became the bunk that allowed my size-13 feet to hang off the end for a full extension of my tired and cramped legs.

A tiny space separated many bottom and top bunks. Rarely was there enough room to sit without banging my head on the artificial ceiling. One night, I cut my noggin on a spring when I forgot about the low-clearance feature of a Spanish bunk. Still, drawing the bottom bunk was like hitting the jackpot on a Las Vegas slot machine. It provided ample storage space below and did not require Cirque du Soleil acrobatic moves for a late-night bathroom excursion. We pilgrims also coveted bunks up against a wall, which seemed to provide a comforting and secure place for shut-eye.

The numerous albergues of the Camino have not discovered Tempur-Pedic or pillow-top mattresses. Instead, the average mattress thickness is about four inches. When luck was on my side, the hostel provided a protective mattress cover, similar to a blue booty worn at an open house. The pillows ranged from thin to thinner, but did allow for the head to rest at a point above the body.

Every albergue has a specific place for laundry. During my trip, four of them had traditional machines and dryers. The remainder usually had two or three large basins with built-in washboards. I typically used a bar of soap as the detergent for my daily washing routine. At the end of each day, I washed my socks, underwear, shorts, and shirt. Every location has ample clotheslines for drying, but clothespins are rarely provided by the hostels. If the clothes were still damp in the morning, I could easily clip them on my backpack for an extended drying time.

The showers were always a trip. Some hostels had one shower while the larger facilities provided eight. Some were clean and others on the edge of disgusting. I always wore flip-flops to avoid contact with the mysterious floors. Nice water pressure, a steady temperature, and a good supply of hot water were things not to be taken for granted on the Camino. Regardless of the conditions, I never failed to exit a shower completely revived, refreshed, and grateful.

With the exception of one albergue in León, every night was completely co-ed. With minimal privacy, pilgrims still managed to demonstrate maximum mutual respect.

The luxurious facilities at the end of my first day of walking made it easy for me to complete daily chores. It was now time to relax. I found my detective friend Peter, and we sat in the sunshine on a nice patio outside of a small bar. I had my first café con leche (espresso coffee with milk) while he sipped a nice-sized mug of Pagoa Basque beer. After some conversation and stretching, I pulled out my journal and wrote my first entry. I felt energized and content to unwind from the long day of walking through the Pyrenees.

That afternoon I purchased a walking stick in the albergue office. Along the path Mikoli and I had found a natural stick and had taken turns carrying it. But it was heavy and awkward. My new wooden stick was slim and lightweight with a metal tip on the end.

We made reservations for dinner at an eatery. At seven o’clock, a large group of people poured through the doors to a room of 16 round tables with places for eight people per table. I shared a table with people from Germany, Hungary, France, and Canada. We kept the conversations light, as we were all in need of rest. After eating, I retrieved my dry clothes from the clothesline before retiring to the third floor for some shut-eye.

I shared my sleeping cubicle with a woman from Austria, and Ron and Christine from San Jose, California. I was not able to communicate with our Austrian roommate but did enjoy speaking to the two people from the United States. This nice middle-aged couple seemed to be very much in love with each other. I had seen them during the walk and admired how at peace they seemed while enjoying the walk and holding hands.

My thoughts went to Roberta, the beautiful love of my life, my almost constant companion for the past four years. I imagined her at home, making dinner, cuddling the cats, maybe playing a Norah Jones song on the piano or taking a walk on the Boise River Greenbelt. She had seen me off at the airport, and I had called her from New York. But I didn’t have a cell phone with me so I wouldn’t be able to call her regularly.

Although the lights were not turned off until ten o’clock, I created my own early privacy with a sleep mask and earplugs. Earplugs are an essential item for light sleepers in albergues. During any given night, a chorus of snoring rocks the house. Some are non-stop chainsaws while others voice intermittent gasps. Farting is also prevalent throughout any given evening. While it is natural, the unwanted loud sound can hamper dreams and foul the community air. Any sound or movement is typically amplified in the sleeping quarters. I tried to sleep, but even with ear protection, there was simply too much energy in the room. After seven hours of restlessness, I threw in the blanket at 5:30 and began to prepare for day two of walking.

Day 2

Camino Meals

The first-floor gathering room was the perfect location to properly pack my belongings. I put the requisite three liters of water into my backpack bladder for the day. This added more than six pounds to my 22-pound pack, giving me serious motivation to hydrate early and often.

Prior to leaving the facility, I returned to the third floor to say goodbye to Peter. The day before he had indicated a desire to walk around 20 kilometers (12 miles) per day which did not match my plan of 30 kilometers (18 miles) per day. I located his bunk and found him packing his bag, using his small headlamp for light. We talked and then shared a hug. I found it difficult to bid farewell to my initial friend. The episode made me sad as I descended the stairs back to the first floor.

I walked in serene solitude. The sounds of my footsteps and walking stick seemed to be amplified on the flat, rocky path. Trees lined the trail on both sides. My breath looked like a rolling cloud when illuminated by my headlamp.

After about an hour of silence, I began talking with Nicolina from Amsterdam. She was a flight attendant and had plans to walk half of the Camino this year and then return for the final half the following year. It was nice to learn a bit about the airline business and Holland. We walked for about an hour then bid farewell, as I needed to find some nourishment at the next town.

At Espinal I stopped at a “Bar” and purchased tortilla de patatas, café con leche, and a chocolate croissant. I joined a young South African woman named Ellie, who wore a bright rainbow headband and sat at one of two plastic tables in the sunshine. We both planned to walk to Larrasoana, which is 27 kilometers from Roncesvalles. After a great conversation, we parted ways, and I returned to the trail with a full belly.

I was beginning to understand more about meals on the Camino. Breakfast (
desayuno
) typically consisted of slices of a crusty white bread with butter and jam. The deluxe version was to have the bread run through a heat machine resulting in toast. A less common breakfast option was tortilla de patatas. It is made with thinly sliced potatoes lightly fried in olive oil. Eggs and onions are added to the mix. When the mixture is firm, a fried tortilla is added to the top and bottom to create a round, pie-shaped meal. It is served like a slice of pie in a stand-alone manner, or between two pieces of bread for a sandwich. Lunch (
almuerzo
) was usually a “bocadillo,”––two slabs of bread with either thinly sliced ham or hunks of chorizo as the lonely ingredient.

For dinner (
cena
) the “Pilgrim Menu” became a mainstay every night with little variance on choice or price. Dinner cost 9-11 Euros and consisted of three courses—a first, second, and
postre
(dessert). The first course was pasta, mixed salad, soup, or paella. The second was pork, beef, chicken, or fish. Patatas fritas (fried potatoes) always accompanied this round. For dessert we could choose flan (caramel custard), natillas (soft custard), helado (ice cream), arroz con leche (rice with milk), or fruta (fruit). Every evening meal included bread, water, and wine.

Restaurants with pilgrim menus cater to walkers on the route. Most peregrinos are in bed by eight or nine o’clock, and the albergues turn off the lights at 10. The local inhabitants of each village follow a completely different meal pattern. They usually eat their biggest meal of the day at around two or three o’clock and then take a long nap or just relax for the daily siesta. For dinner, they begin to congregate around eight or nine and then spend hours eating a light evening meal where the focus is on socializing with family and friends. Most pilgrims are busy snoring in gargantuan proportions when the locals begin their nightly processions. The locals snore when the pilgrims exit their cities in the mornings.

I always enjoyed eating the food, but finding it could be a bit of a challenge. On most mornings, nothing was open during my pre-dawn departure times. That meant hiking on an empty stomach for three to five miles until arriving at the next town. Upon arrival in a village, I always found one yellow arrow pointing to the continuing Camino and another yellow arrow pointing to the three yellow letters that spelled BAR. With the exception of Bar Elvis, I do not recall a single name of any establishment other than the universal name “Bar.”

The bar is basically the center of the social universe in each village. This is the place for coffee, toast, bocadillos, ice cream, water, booze, Internet, television, and friendship. Spending time at the bar is a daily part of Camino life. Upon entrance, every pilgrim is welcome at every table. There are no cliques or pariahs in this lovely land.

These random spots are usually open by eight in the morning. I never made it to closing time but think they closed around 10 in the evening. They usually have permanent seating inside and red plastic tables and chairs on outside patios. Ironically, I enjoyed one of my favorite meal locations alone on a deserted concrete sidewalk one afternoon during the trip.

Most villages have some type of grocery store, but they are a far cry from the typical retail outlets that overpopulate every American city. In the tiny villages along the Camino, a typical
tienda
may be large enough to accommodate three to four patrons at a time. They usually offer very basic items like bread, cheese, and a tiny produce selection. The entire fruit offering may be 10 apples and six oranges. The larger villages have stores the size of a small American convenience store. The four largest cities have traditional stores that resemble small grocery stores in the United States.

I found the best way to experience all aspects of the Camino was to let go of any and all expectations from the past and just accept the current situation. At home, I could not imagine going on a long mountain bike ride without a proper nutritious meal as a predecessor to pedaling. Well, when the lights were off in the bar, and it was time to walk in the early morning, I could choose to accept reality or turn into a crybaby because it was not like home. This simple decision made the difference between a joyous or lousy morning. Without worry, I simply knew that the next village was likely to have an open establishment, and the meal would be much better at that time.

For people who require regularly scheduled meals, carrying food is always an option. If a person really needs provisions between stops, other pilgrims always seemed willing to help. It did not matter if it was an apple, bandages for blisters, or water for parched souls; any person in need could count on fellow walkers to offer assistance.

Food was also often available along the trail. Seeds from wild anise, with their licorice taste, became a staple of mine on the trip. We often passed trees loaded with apples, bushes full of wild blackberries, unlimited grapes in vineyards, and traditional farms with many vegetables including lots of red peppers. As a rule of thumb, anything that is wild or has naturally fallen to the ground is okay for pilgrims. Poaching veggies from the vines or fruit from the trees is not appropriate behavior for the many foreign visitors who walk the trail through Spain. Religious or not, I think there is a special place for those who violate this unwritten rule.

I do not recall a single moment when I was totally famished and in need of food. I ate like a king, enjoyed the local cuisine, and had no problem adjusting to local times and customs. That said, unless a person has 15 gigantic servings of ice cream on a daily basis, there is no way that the food intake can keep up with the high caloric consumption on the Camino. Pilgrims typically lose substantial weight on the trip.

On this second day of walking, I was fortunate to find a small tienda open where I purchased bread, an apple, and a packet of mixed nuts. I enjoyed this delicious meal on the banks of the beautiful Rio Arga.

Upon arriving at my planned destination, I was full of energy and decided to continue until my body told me to rest. At that point, my breakfast companion, Ellie, appeared on the trail with the exact same intention.

We walked an additional 13 kilometers (8 miles). Although we enjoyed unbelievable scenery as we tramped along the river, the total 40-kilometer (25-mile) day took its toll on my body and energy level. I felt like an old man walking down the last hill. I walked backwards for a while, to reduce the impact on my knees and for a change of view. The final kilometers into the village of Villava seemed like an eternity.

Still, as so often happened on this trip, the albergue that awaited me went a long way to ease the discomforts of that long day. It was one of my favorites on the entire Camino.

The 36-bed hostel has been at this location, next to a series of waterfalls on the Arga River, since the eleventh century. A quaint courtyard separates the living quarters from a basilica church. To enter, we rang a bell that echoed throughout the area. A very hospitable gentleman opened the oversized door and welcomed us to his kingdom. I paid my whopping eight Euros and immediately fell in love with my temporary home.

One room had fewer bunks and some empties. We were lucky to be in this section as there were only two other people and the bottom bunks were open. While still in the infancy of my journey, simple things like this brought an inordinate amount of happiness to my day. After a nice, warm shower and some hand washing of clothes, Ellie and I both headed toward the courtyard for some much-needed rest. Getting down the stairs was a bit tricky as my knees were not pleased with the extra-long day. After securing my wet socks and underwear to the clothesline, we headed to a table in the sun to relax and write in our journals. It was a marvelous afternoon.

Although practically strangers, Ellie and I agreed to exchange foot massages. Our very sore feet were extremely grateful.

After hobbling into town for dinner, we passed by a store that had a small sign advertising Internet telephones. Since neither of us had cell phones with us, we jumped at the opportunity to make phone calls. Ellie called her husband and I called Roberta.

Roberta, who is a big fan of caller ID, answered the strange number with quite a bit of trepidation. When she realized it was me, she sounded excited at first. However, her enthusiasm seemed to deflate after just a few minutes. I was confused by the brief conversation. While I had been planning the trip, she had seemed enthusiastic and supportive. Ellie seemed to be dancing on air after speaking with her husband. I was envious.

Around 8:30 that evening, my tired body was ready for some serious rest, and I slept.