Camino DO's and DONT's (and a bonus video)

Which way are you supposed to go if you see this sign (the shell-looking thing)? Post in the comments if you know the answer and win a no-expenses paid trip to walk a leg of the Camino with Mark!

Hello there, good pilgrim!  So you want to do/are already doing the Camino de Santiago?  Well, it's not for everyone.  It's long.  It can be monotonous.  It can be rainy.  But it can also be pristine and rewarding and everything you've ever dreamed of in a journey.

I'm no expert on the Camino, but I've done a few clicks.  Here are a few DO's and DONT's to help you on your way:

DO wear a blindfold half the time you're in Asturias.  Given the signage you'll probably do just as well.

DON'T wear boots.  Every single person I've talked to who's worn boots has had a terrible experience; from my friend Natalie whose foot swelled up to the size of a butternut squash, to the first guy I met, Carlos, who said, "I wore them on the Camino Frances.  Never again." to Valentin, a dude I met the other night who had a jacked ankle, a bum arch, and said the only way he could even put his boots on is if he didn't tie them.   Ouch.

DO bring a thin paperback with you.  It'll be your friend when you're lonely, like on Thanksgiving when you have no one to celebrate with and no stuffing to gobble.  Frowny face.

DO plan for a couple days off and a couple short days.  Your body will love you and yes, the people on the forums I glanced at before doing this were right: it's better when you go slower. You see more, you do more, you meet more people, and it's more enjoyable.

DON'T get exasperated by how fast Spaniards drive.  You will only be angry most of every day.  Like me.

DO always have something to snack on.  That way you can set little goals for yourself: Three kilometers more and I get to have a piece of chocolate.  Ten kilometers more and I get to have lunch.  Four hundred kilometers more and I never have to set foot on this path again in my life.

DON'T wear headphones.  Come on guys.  Listen to the sound of the waves.  And the forest.  And the cars passing by.  And the car that would've hit you if you were head-bobbing to "Red-blooded Woman" by Kylie Minogue.

DO have some kind of utensil with you.  I have a fork.  Though at the same time, sometimes I really wish I had a spoon, since eating yogurt with a fork = insanity.

DON'T carry more than 10 kilograms.  There's absolutely no reason to do so.  A couple changes of clothes, a light-weight sleeping bag, and you're good.  And wool socks.

DO wear wool socks.  Even if it's summer.  Even if you're in La Rioja and it's 190 degrees out.  Just wear thin socks.  Cotton kills.

DO eat as much tortilla española as possible.  Eggs and potatoes.  All you could ever need.

DON'T be beguiled into purchasing the "Menu de Peregrino".  Often times there's no discount at all, and I don't care what anyone says, eight euros is not a cheap meal.  Get pinchos.  Or cook.  Or steal*.

DON'T take the road.  It's tempting sometimes but unless it's going to save you a ton of clicks it's not really worth it.  I feel my soul slowly disintegrating when I'm on the road.  And plus one of Spain's national slogans seems to be "Drive to maim."

DO talk to people.  My conversation with the Cuban lady the other day was a ray of sunshine and talking to the husband/wife couple who owned the hotel yesterday was definitely a highlight.  I need to follow this rule myself more because after walking all day it's easy to shut yourself off from the world.  But my favorite moments so far have been impromptu conversations.  Spaniards are great conversationalists, and within minutes of talking to someone they'll be patting you on the back or giving you relationship advice.  The meat and potatoes of the Camino experience, as far as I'm concerned (or egg and potatoes, in honor of the tortilla).

DO eat lots of dark chocolate.  It makes you happy.

DON'T touch the comforters at the Hosteling International Ondarreta in San Sebastian.  You will get bed bugs, they will take up residence on your body/ in your clothes, and you will at some point think about jumping off a bridge.

That's all for now.  Happy Thanksgiving!  I'm going to eat some Dorito's in my room and possibly watch Legend of the Fall.  ¡Olé!

*Kidding, mother.

Bonus video: Mark Reviews: Quechua 10-liter Poncho

Half-way Home

The other day I made a drastic decision:  I started to walk in flip-flops.  This was in an effort to combat my nagging arch problems, and it worked perfectly.  I walked 30k in flip flops, in the rain, without a problem.  Though I guess I shouldn't say completely without a problem, because the downside of walking 30k in flip flops in November in northern Spain is that you're freezing, and I've felt a little bit under the weather today.  

In addition to new footwear I've started a new walk/work routine because, as my friend Jenny put it, I was hemorrhaging funds.   When you don't think about how much you're spending, you tend to spend a lot.  And since I want to come out of this walk not destitute, I've started to up the hours.  This basically means that I work a little in the morning, walk most of the day, and work a good chunk in the evening.  As I've said before it's lame to have to work but if I wasn't working I wouldn't be doing this and the sad reality is that many times in the evenings there's not a whole lot else to do.  

To be fair, this is not quite true in Colungo, where I currently am, a town of about 2,000 people and home to the nicest hotel owner on the planet.  This woman talks to me like she's known me her whole life, tracks me down to remind me I can turn on the heat if I get cold, and urges me enthusiastically to check out the fossilized dinosaur prints on the edge of town, which I did.  I didn't really want to walk anymore after walking most of the day and feeling like I had a bit of a cold, but the 6-year-old paleontologist inside me was screaming, "You better go check out those prints, jerk."  And it was cool and I'm so glad I went.  I'd never stood inside the paw print of a Sauropod before.  

The Camino, like anything else in life, can become a routine.  You wake up, you eat, you walk all day, you eat, you hang out, you work (in my case), you eat, you sleep, and you do it all over again.  And again and again and again.  But there are always shining glimmers of beauty that break up the routine, like the conversation I had with a Cuban woman last night, her accent making me feel like I was wandering the sweltering streets of Santa Clara; the horses that I stopped to pet today when I slowed down to look at them and they came trotting over to me; and of course the lady in the hotel today.  And of course any routine is what you make of it.  And the breathtaking sea views will never get old.   

Some more photos:

 On the way to Santander. 

 Battered but not beaten. 

 San Vicente de la Barquera. 

This was supposed to be a video.

 What I undoubtedly look like. 

 Christmas present from mom pays sweeping dividens.

The Shire.

That's the Camino

My favorite photo so far.  Asturias. 

 I'm in a town called Unquera lying in bed eating chestnuts at Hotel Canal, a two-star gem that costs 28 American dollars a night and has WIFI in the room.  This town is perfect:  It's got the rugged Picos de Europa mountain range in the background, the Rio Deva running next to it, and even a border town feel, since one side of the river is Cantabria and the other Asturias.  I'm in heaven and I think I'll stay an extra day.

The last few days have seen tons of kilometers and my latest maladie: arch problems.  The leg from Santander to Santilla del Mar was possibly the longest yet, and on the last 5k, after popping into someone's house to fill up my water bottle (the door was open and when no one responded to my "hola"s I quickly helped myself to the sink), the arch in my left foot began to flatten and when I got to Santillana I was noticeably limping. You gotta pay to play.

However, in Santillana there were people!  Actual other walkers! There was Jacob (who introduced himself as "Pepe"), a Frenchman who upon seeing me lying exhausted and distraught on the bunkbed said "I know what you need" and produced a chunk of chocolate the size of my arm; Carlos, a guy who seemed vaguely annoyed with me every time I opened my mouth and who would snore like a clogged wood-chipper at least 60% of the night; and Miguel, an affable guy from Mallorca who I got to hear talking to his wife on the phone in Mallorcan Catalan.  It was great being around people.  I got a taste of what the "real Camino spirit" is all about, and the next day even got to walk a few Ks with Carlos and Miguel, which was a novel experience after so much solitude.  I hardly noticed I was walking because of the talking.  I wasn't thinking about how my arch might collapse or how many Ks we had left, but rather learning about how the articles in Mallorcan Catalan are different from those of Barcelona, and how the Balearics in August are a disaster.

Last night was spent in the Pirates of the Caribbean-esque town of San Vicente de la Barqurea, at a pilgrim shelter (hostel) called El Galeon.  When I got there I was appalled.  The place was a dump.  Rob, the guy in charge, showed me a dorm room full of unwashed bunk bed mattresses with no sheets, charged me 10 euros, and told me the only thing we could use in the kitchen was the microwave.  I was extremely tempted to ask him "What am I paying for?" but am trying to put a leash on my tongue after asking a poor old lady in Polanco who had just gotten eye surgery"What century are we in?" when she told me the bar next door didn't accept credit cards.  Lying in bed after getting settled in I was in somewhat foul spirits, but when I met the owners things changed.  They were nice. They talked to me.  The grandmother kept yelling "Matt! Matt! Come look at this Armenian woman who's only been in Spain for five years and is winning this game show!" Lola, her daughter, asked if I played the piano, claiming that I had "pianist's hands" (still trying to decide if this is a compliment).  All in all I realized what a difference people make.  PEOPLE.  If you have a crappy job and the people are great, the job can be great.  If you're in a crappy place but you're with great people, it can be great.  That's something I don't think people understand about traveling and something I forget half the time.  It doesn't matter where you are: the only thing that matters are the people.  You can be in the middle of Kansas hanging out at a gas station (although to be honest this sounds kind of awesome already) but if you're with good people you're going to have a good time.  Anyway.  As Lola left and kissed me on the cheek she said, "Play the piano."  As the mother left and kissed me on the cheek (borderline rromantically I might add) she said "Buen camino" (Good walk).  And they were off and I was left with Rob who had grown on me a bit despite the fact that he kind of gave me the creeps and I was semi-convinced he was a secret alcoholic.

The reason I'm staying an extra day tomorrow is because I think my body desperately needs the rest.  The Camino is not difficult cardiovascularly.  After the Basque Country there's stages where you barely break a sweat despite walking 35k.  But it's the wear and tear that kills you.  When you walk on pavement for long enough, or just walk in general for long enough, things start to fail.  It's actually kind of interesting: whatever defect your body has, however, minor, inevitably surfaces if you walk for long enough. The one upside is that after so much walking and solitude I feel in tune with my body, and thus am confident that I can push myself without going too far.  After all, some of the most exhilarating days I've had have been walking that extra 5 or 10k after I was already running on fumes.  Yesterday was like that, coming into San Vicente at sunset, the haze of the clouds melding with the end of the ocean, surfers happily paddling in the water, cows grazing tranquilly, and the Picos de Europa with the sun dropping behind them.  They're the kind of moments that make you glad you're pushing yourself even if it means some pain that night and the next day.  No pain, no gain, right?

Así es el camino.  

The Time I Walked the Camino*

I went left. 

At the tourist agency in Bilbao a few days ago, the attractive tourist agency girl told me that some people take the bus to the hostel on the outskirts of town, that the number 58 goes right there.

"Um, isn't that, like, cheating?" I said to her, joking.

She turned her palms upward and shrugged.  "Maybe.  But a lot of people do it."

Which brings me to the subject of today's post:  What's "legal" on the camino and what's not?  What's considered acceptable, standard practice, and what will earn you an asterisk that will forever taint your camino experience?  Basically it's simple: start somewhere far away, and walk to the town of Santiago de Compostela.  That's it.  Don't hitchike, don't take a bus into town if you're tired, and don't get a ride from someone because you broke your ankle.  You're on the Camino to walk, and that's what you're going to do.  But just in case there are any doubts, I've conjured a few scenarios, some of which earn the dreaded "asterisk", and some of which do not.

1) Hitchhiking into town because it's snowing and you're wet and miserable.  Asterisk.

2) Hitchiking into town because you're wet and miserable and then hitchhiking back to where you were on the Camino.  No asterisk.

3) Getting to the tourist office, finding out where the hostel is, and then taking a bus or a tax there.  Asterisk.

4) Having someone drive your bag to the next town so you don't have to carry it.  I'm tempted to put asterisk here (especially if you're under the age of 65), but if you're still walking, it's OK.  An asterisk on your soul, though.

5) Riding a bike.  No asterisk, or rather, the biggest asterisk of all.  This is something completely different altogether. if do the Camino de Santiago on your bike you can't say you did the Camino de Santiago.  You can say, I did the Camino de Santiago.....on my bike.  You are forever obliged to utter this phrase, even in situations where it's not relevant.  It should be the first thing you mention in subsequent job interviews and also accounted for in your wedding vows.  And you should possibly get an asterisk tattooed on your lower back.

However, this situation is easy to avoid.  if you do the Camino de Santiago on your bike all you have to do is never mention that you did the Camino de Santiago.  If possible, deny you've even heard of it.  You're allowed to say you took a bike trip through northern Spain, but that's it.  Basically, you either walked it, or you never did it at all.

6) Riding a horse.  No asterisk.  This is somehow OK, just because I enjoy picturing someone trying to water their horse in downtown Bilbao, or enjoying a pincho in a bar while their colt waits timidly at the end of the street.  However, when I say no asterisk, I mean for the horse.  The horse did the Camino de Santiago, not you.  You sat in a moving, neighing chair.

7) Walking along the road because it's more direct.  No asterisk.  Absolutely no asterisk.  It's maybe not as "pure" as always following the arrows, but as far as I'm concerned, as long as you walk to Santiago de Compestela under your own power, anything goes.  You can walk along the autopista and pay the tolls, for all I care.  Walking along the road is usually a pretty terrible experience (especially for your arches), but there are some places where its saves many kilometers and arrows have even been put up for those who don't want to walk the "real" path.  In my opinion, if you're following arrows, you're on the path, regardless of when they were put up or if there's a "more real" path somewhere else.  If there were arrows straight to the Irun airport and down a jetway to a flight that took you directly to Santiago, that would still count.  But unfortunately, as far as I know, that doesn't exist.

8) Non-sanctioned ferry rides.  I can't really think of anyplace where this would be an issue because any water crossings that might come into play already have a Camino-sanctioned route through them.  Yesterday's boat ride from Somo to Santander, for example, had arrows and Camino signs leading up to it and is even accounted for in the guidebook.  Some might say, "oh a true peregrino walks the whole way.  A true peregrino goes around."  But I'm not so sure.  Take the short boat ride from Laredo to Santoña, for example.  Small boats have been ferrying peregrinos across that stretch since time immemorable, so by doing it the "easy" way, you're actually a more devout pilgrim, and St. James will smile upon you.

HOWEVER, and this is somewhat different: if you were to, say, bring a small blow-up raft to cross a certain body of water so as not to have to walk around it, that would qualify as an asterisk.  Take the estuary between Islares and Oriñón, for example.  But, whereas a raft would give you a big fat asterisk, putting your stuff in a trash bag and floating it across while you swim would not.  It would, however, make you insane.

In summary, it's pretty straight forward: get to Santiago by walking under your own power, and you've done the Camino.  Ride a bike or a razor scooter or a hot air balloon, and as far as you're concerned, the Camino de Santiago doesn't exist.  I, of course, have not yet done the Camino de Santiago, so I will try to remain humble.

Humble, and asterisk-free.

Three Cups of Danon

I just got back from dinner in a town called Noja where I demolished a blue cheese and nut burger with about two pounds of french fries.  I had a nice chat with the bartender, who explained that he's studying English and French because he wants to go to either the US or Canada.

"Do you like languages?" I asked.

"No. But I need them for my job.  And Spain...."

Noja is ghost town in the winter.  All the apartment buildings are shuttered.  The only lodging I could find was a "four star" hotel that cost 40 euros a night with breakfast, and so I thus faced a dilemma.  You see, about halfway through the walk today (which was gorgeous, through craggy countryside outside Liendo, goat pastures outside Laredo, a boat ride to Santoña, and a picturesque red clay path that inched its way over a hill and descended into the long, sandy beach that is Noja) I started feeling pain in my right shin just above the ankle.  I didn't think too much of it, and pressed on.  The pain got gradually worse until by the time I was in Noja it was getting fairly difficult to walk.  So the dilemma I faced was this: cough up 40 euros for luxury and comfort even though I can't really afford it, or press on in the hopes of finding something cheaper while possibly wrecking my shin in the process.  Lately, I've been very good at making decisions, but this one was tough.  I was completely torn.  So I did something else: I went to the grocery store and bought yogurt.  I figured it might take my mind off the problem for a second and then maybe the answer would come naturally (sort of a "Three Cups of Tea" thing).  When it still didn't I started to walk out of town, convinced I was going for it, and then finally I stopped again and sat down.  And ate more yogurt.  In the end, I decided to stay.  

I'm glad I decided to stay because I met possibly the love of my life.  In the cafe I went in to to ask about lodging options there was a beautiful Algerian woman working who explained that basically my options were to stay in the hotel or sleep in a dumpster alongside the town's myriad street cats.  I tried to go through the motions of normal human conversation and etiquette but I mostly just found myself wondering, "Is she married does she have a boyfriend why on earth is she here in this tiny little town she must at the very least have a child probably a daughter who she loves more than anything in the world there is no way she's not married should I be smiling right now?"  After my chat with her I went and got settled into the hotel, where I am now (after going out to dinner) typing these very words and feeling nostalgic about the trip so far.  

As far as my shin goes, I'm terrified it's shin splints but there's a very good chance it's nothing.  I'll probably wake up tomorrow and be totally fine, and I'll walk the 40k into Santander and be merry.  But if it is shin splints, and it's serious (I've heard they're horrible), I'm not worried.  Since I made a promise to myself at the beginning to finish this walk, it means I have to do it whatever the cost. It might mean a few less k's per day.  It might even mean  a month in Santander, healing up, eating pinchos and surfing and growling "Joder, tio" at passers-by.  But whatever it is, I take comfort in that whatever it is it's not the end.  Because only Santiago's the end, and it's still a long way off.  

Some photos:

Santoña looms in the distance.  Many goat pastures must be crossed and many kilometers of beach walked to get there.

Lifestyle.

Confusion. 

"Stand on the shore and wave your arms, otherwise they won't come get you".  

Lower body strength.

Still life with finger.

El Mar Cantábrico.

Charming rambler in a convenient location just off France Ave. and easy access to I62. This home features hardwood, 2 fireplaces, office/den, and finished basement with family room. It also includes dining area, , central air, partially fenced in yard, and 2 stall garage. This one is move in ready call for more information.

By special request: Las Ronchas (arm ronchas not pictured)

Cozyville, España (Day 8??? Mioño to El Pontarrón)

I'm sitting in Bar El Pontarron, between Castro Urdiales and Laredo, Cantabria, basking in the glow of a wood-burning fireplace and getting a few hours of work in so tomorrow I might take the day off.  Compared with yesterday's 40k bike path death march, today was a walk in the park.  The Camino snaked its way through a few villages before plunging down to the sea, and for most of the second half my only companions were grazing sheep and goats and a beautiful view of the Cantabrian's azure waters.  It's during moments like these that I sometimes let out uncontrollable yelps of joy, that every kilometer walked in the rain, that every moment making a superhuman effort to not scratch the bug bites that are degrading my sanity, become absolutely worth it.  It's moments like these when the Camino far exceeds my expectations, and I sometimes find myself pausing once, twice, or three times to take in a view and berate myself with the question:  "Are you fully appreciating this?"

When I got to the town where I am right now the albergue said to get the keys from the bar where I'm currently nestled in.  I asked the woman if there would be pinchos or food later, and she said yes.  After a quick rest in the empty shelter and a walk around the "town" (which with more than 50 steps invariably consists of a walk out of town), I came to the bar and settled in, marveling at the comforting powers of the wood burning fireplace and the tranquility and comfort that reigned in the establishment.  When I noticed there didn't seem to be any food being brought out, I asked the lady if there might be anything to snack on.

"I could make you a sandwich," she said, "or some eggs...."

At the mention of eggs I perked up visibly and she must have noticed because she went on to say, "I could make you some eggs, some french fries, maybe some sausage?"

I almost did a back flip.

The next thing I knew I was living my personal nirvana, a delicious plate of hot food before me and the warmth of a fireplace next to me.  Spain in November doesn't get much better than this.

I plan to go to bed early tonight (other than staring at the wall in the dark there's really not much other choice) and get up early tomorrow so I can attempt to walk to Santander, the capital of Asturias, in two days.  I think it's entirely doable.  Maybe about 60-65k of walking.  The weather over the next few days looks great so I'm going to give it a go.  After all, once I'm in Asturias it means the next province is Galicia, and Galicia is home to the town this whole walk is named after.

So bye for now.  Here are some pictures from the last few days, leaving the Basque countryside and descending into Bilbao, and finally walking north/northwest in the rain to Cantabria and beyond.

Hasta pronto.

Peregrino's special

Descending into Bilbao

Leaving Bilbao: bike path of death.  

Home

Where were you when they built the ladder to heaven?

Happy goats

Castro Urdiales: candidate for favorite town so far

Offshore at Islares

Solitary surfer

Classic don't know what face to make face (59k to Santander!)

Still Walking

Entre Pobeña y Kobaron

I feel the need to explain my silence over the past few days.  It's really easy to sum up: bed bugs.  The first night in San Sebastian I stayed at a Hostelling International hostel that didn't wash the comforters.  A couple days later walking from Deba to Markina I noticed my arms starting to itch, and by that night I was in a state of mild delirium, itching and trying to sleep and trying to not go insane, a state which endures, albeit only in the evenings, to this day.  In the mornings and when I'm walking it's fine, but afterward, when I'm lying down and the adrenalin or the distraction from walking has worn off, the bug bites start to itch, and I start to lose it.
The first day was the worst; the walk from Markina to Gernika was a living hell. The skin on my left arm was tight and jaundiced, with an awkward-looking lump as if I had just fractured it falling off the swings at recess, and the overall feel was as if someone had sprinkled it with habanero chili seeds and fire ants before tightly covering it it in saran wrap.  By the time Gernika came into view I was a shell of a man.  I sat down next to a garbage can and took about a two minute video of myself talking about how I had reached "rock bottom".  Imagine 127 hours but in northern Spain and me perhaps not quite as convincing as James Franco (though the thought of reaching into my bag and using my Swiss Army Knife for some kind of amputation did cross my mind).   I've had bed bugs a few times in hostels in various parts of the world, but I don't remember it ever being like this.

Anyway.

Along with the tough moments there have been some extremely enjoyable ones, which I will hereto enumerate as I lie here in bed not "itching" my arms but rather periodically freaking out and rubbing them vigorously against raised texture of the embroidered duvet covers.

Mark's "Ten Most Important Things That Have Happened in the Last Three Days" (Number one being the "most important")

10) Learned how to say "good night" in Moroccan Arabic from the guys at the reception in my hostel last night (lay-la sah-EEda).

9) Pan-fried a store-bought pizza since there was no oven in said hostel and I would sooner eat it cold than microwave it (It turned out surprisingly well.  I did each slice individually using a pot lid to cover them, creating sort of a mini oven)
8) Made it into Cantabria, a whole new province.

7) Set a new personal best for distance today, covering about 37k, the last five of which were spent walking alongside the highway, cold and drenched and trying to sing "Santeria" by Sublime to stay positive.

6) Walked through the old town of Bilbao.  And then promptly walked out.

5) Traded a Greek yogurt for a tangerine from a Dutch guy who said flying was for "poor people".

4) Successfully communicated in Basque (Opa! Opa!)

3) Did laundry

2) Got bed bug bites

.............

1)  Am still walking.

Highs and Lows (Day 4: Deba to Markina)

When I imagined the Camino de Santiago, I imagined a walk.  More of an amble, actually.  I imagined a flat path, sometimes paved, sometimes not, crisscrossing through pasturelands always with a beautiful view of the coast, forever meandering through impossibly quaint Spanish towns.  

But this is not an amble.  This is hiking.  Or at least today was.  Today's leg, from Deba to Markina-Xemeina, was about 24k, though a great deal of that was spent shuffling up rocky paths, cursing, and then daintily lowering myself down pine needle-covered rock descents.  Actually, it didn't seem that bad, but when I got to my lodging I read through the comment book and saw almost half the people had remarked about how grueling the walk had been to get here and how glad they were to be able to rest.  And then the more I thought about it I decided I agreed with them.  

The winds were near hurricane force this morning, and I left before sunrise from the train station in Deba after being woken up by a strange dude coming into the hostel who presumably worked there but looked like he had just showed up -- at 6:47am while it was still pitch black outside -- to go number two in the bathroom and then immediately leave.  It was very strange and I decided to get out of there as soon as possible.  The first part of the trail was all climb, from sealevel up to about 300 meters.  After that it was a beautiful forest path, through a valley of lowing cattle and a house that looked like it might've been helicoptered in from Lichtenstein, and then back into the forest.  My big problem today was not properly rationing my water.  I was already thirsty and out of water when I got to a sign that said "Markina -- 9.3k".  And it was not 9.3k of flat.  It was 9.3k of ups and downs with rocks, one of which I semi-turned my left ankle on, and at one point I heard a cow bell behind me and felt the ground under me tremble and turned around to see a clydesdale or some other equally massive equine barreling down on me full speed.  I stayed calm and stepped off the road, and he went by without incident to join his friends further down the road.  

Finally in Markina I found good cheap lodging for 12 euros and for the second night in a row it appears I'm the only one in the room.  I went to the restaurant that's also owned by the hostel owners to use their wifi and got to talking to Cecilia, an Ecuadorean girl who works there.  I finally got to ask someone the question I've been wondering about these tiny towns in the middle of the Basque Country  -- How are there so many Africans?  I had speculated that the Basque Country had programs for refugees and people seeking asylum, not only for humanitarian purposes but also because the more people the Basque Country can get speaking Basque and living in its small towns the more it bolsters the prominence and relevance of the language, but it's still strange to show up to a town of less than 5,000 people in a historically inaccessible and mountainous part of Vizcaya, and see a bunch of people from Cameroon standing on the corner.  From what I understood from Cecilia I was basically right.  In her case though she was slightly miffed because she said a lot of people come here and get help from the state and even though they could get a job, they don't.  She said there's no real incentive to work when the state will just maintain you.  

I had hoped to work a couple hours but the internet wasn't cooperating.  One of my goals on this walk is to not stress out about things I can't change, so rather than getting pissed off about the lack of internet I got to talking with a Polish kid who had walked into the restaurant who's also doing the camino.  The kid was an animal.  He basically walked all the way from where I was two days ago to Markina -- in one day.  In other words, he took today, one of the most challenging sections of the Camino in terms of elevation change and terrain, and tacked on about another 13k.  He explained that in Poland his job is to walk around in the mountains, so he's pretty used to it.  When he found out I was lugging around a computer so I could work he frowned and said, "I could never do that.  Computers aren't really my cup of tea."  I explained that they're not really mine either but that I had to make money somehow and that this job was allowing me to do this -- travel all over the world and do things like 825k walks through the north of Spain -- but he was staring glaze-eyed off into the distance at this point, so I quickly changed the subject and we began poring over his guidebook and discussing tomorrow's walk.  

I had decided that if I didn't work tonight it wouldn't be the end of the world, and went for a stroll to the church Markina is famous for.  Despite being dark inside and night outside, the door was open and I went inside where I was confronted with a massive rock.  By massive I mean about 20ft tall and 30 feet wide.  It's sitting in the middle of the church and it's the only thing in the church.  There were some pews around it and an alter in front of it, but basically there's a church in Markina - Xemeina that contains nothing more than an enormous boulder.  I have no idea about the history of the church or why the rock is there, but I assume it has something to do with paganism or that it's a meteorite and for the time being don't plan on going out of my way to read about it more, since in this case I actually do like the mystery.  

After leaving the church I walked back past the cultural center which had a nice glow about it and what looked like a cafe inside.  There were pinchos (little sandwiches and things -- basically tapas) out on the bar and the internet was plentiful.  The guy working there was extremely kind, too.  I worked for about an hour and a half and then my neck and shoulders started to hurt in pretty much every posture I tried, so I decided it was time to get out.  While working there though I enjoyed a glimpse of community life in Markina.  On one end of the cafe a group of guys in their early 30's prepared the stage for a concert this weekend, and people were constantly filtering in and out in little groups, speaking Basque and Spanish and saying hi to each other.  The music was also good.  The barista had Matt Costa playing, which was awesome until after about the third time through the same set of five songs on repeat.  

At the end of the night, the guy working there walked over and put some sandwiches on my table.  "Help yourself if you'd like," he said, "otherwise I'm just going to throw them out." I happily accepted them and instantly devoured two of them like a golden lab eating food that's fallen on the floor, and as I was getting ready to leave he came over and set down yet another sandwich.  When I was leaving he shook my hand and said, "My name is Borja", charged me 2.80 cents total, and I was off into the unseasonably warm Basque air rejoicing and thinking about what a wonderful night it had turned out to be.  

Day Three: Hip Problems

Classic Camino sign: arrows pointing in opposite directions

Well, I did something I probably shouldn't have done last night -- I splurged on a hotel.  I could've walked a couple more kilometers to a town that was having a festival, a festival that maybe only happens once a year, but I couldn't be bothered.  Before I knew it I had handed a piece of plastic to the woman at the reception and in return she handed me another piece of plastic, and her piece of plastic opened up a beautiful clean, cozy, warm room that was all my own.  For one night.  

I justified the hotel room purchase by the fact that since the little town was having a festival I could very well get there and there be no lodging available (backtracking is out of the question), and also by telling myself I would work an extra two hours this week to make up for it.  Which means I spent a good deal of my time at the beautiful little hotel working, though this was fine because I was tired as a dog from walking all day and didn't exactly want to go out and dance the cha cha or run wind-sprints. I did go for a stroll though., and Getaria is a nice little town.  At around 5pm like clockwork the inhabitants make their way to the public areas, parks and plazas, so their kids can play and run around and scream (sometimes in Basque, sometimes intelligibly).  During this time I walked down to the ocean, watched the swell rolling in and a fisherman with a rod about 20ft long trying his luck (in my life I've seen ONE person fishing from the shore actually catch something, and it was about five days ago in France), and then stopped in the main cathedral for which the town is somewhat known, possibly because the floor is slanted or because it seems to take up about half the city center.  On my way home I went grocery shopping and bought some corn on the cob, some arugula, yoghurt, an avocado, and some peanuts.  The body wants what it needs, and apparently my body really wanted arugula.  The women working in the store were speaking Basque, which was nice to hear.  Since saying the first day how I had heard no one speaking Basque I have since heard it quite a bit.

One thing I noticed after being in the hotel for about an hour, lying on the bed and generally letting my body slip into a state of torpor, was that my left hip started to seize up like an un-oiled Lada engine.  This was startling, since your hips are a fairly critical component for walking.  If it was my pinky I could ignore it, but everthing that's important for walking and keeping your self upright and passably homosapien is somehow connected to the hip.  And mine felt like it had just turned into cement.  I realized, upon reflection, that it probably had to do with the waist strap I was tightly cinching around it to take weight off my shoulders.  When I woke up it still felt pretty stiff, so I walked most of the day just using the shoulder straps, which of course meant that by about the 15th kilometer it felt like someone had thieved the Swiss Army Knife out of my sidepocket and driven it directly into my shoulders.    Luckily, today's walk was short.  Also luckily, my feet are still blister free (knock on wood).  And with blister-free feet, I feel like I shouldn't really complain.  

The town I made to today is called Deba.  It's small beach town of about 5,000 people, the last beach town before the Camino juts inland towards Bilbao.  At the tourist office the woman informed me that there's a shelter only for peregrinos, and that it costs five euros.  This is wonderful, the only slight downside being that there's no WIFI which means in order to work tonight I have to wait until the Spaniards wake up from their afternoon naps and go on a little bit of an internet wild goose chase.  It's annoying to have to work, but then again if I didn't have the job I currently have I wouldn't even be doing this right now.  So who am I to complain. The one thing I WILL complain about is how there's no one else in this hostel.  Which means another night of talking to myself and staring listleslly out the window.  However, I know if there was someone here the only thing that would be running through my head is, "Are they going to snore are they going to snore are they going to snore am I going to want to kill them" so I should probably just revel in the solitude.  

I've walked about 70km so far, and have about 798 to go.  Tomorrow's walk to Markina-Xemein will apparently reveal "the Basque Country's other face: mountainous, wooded, bathed in shadows, but also much more demanding and, at the sime time, singular and beautiful." (my crappy translation).  

I'm excited.

#pincho

A Blister-Free Day 2: San Sebastian to Getaria

The first arrow of the day.  

I cannot overstate my joy to begin walking this morning.  I was the first one to breakfast in the hostel, and then hit the trail just as the sun would have been rising had there been a sun to rise. I've noticed that if you walk for long enough at times you'll go into a sort of trance.  When you're in this trance you're either thinking hard about something very trivial (like whether or not you're going to get a banana or an orange at the next grocery store), talking to yourself, or humming a song by REM.  When in this trance whole kilometers can go by without you noticing them.  This usually happens when the path is monotonous and when you've been walking for awhile.  It doesn't happen when there's lots of stimulation, like when you're walking through the downtown of a big city, red-in-the-face because you're wearing what look to be like black tights under your shorts.  

As far as the actual walk itself, there were a few kilometers of pavement after leaving San Sebastian but then after that a beautiful trail through woods and pastureland, all with a view of the whitecaps of the Bay of Biscayne.  Far, far, far from the nearest highway.  The town of Orio was quaint but meant more pavement, ditto for Zarautz, and then I took the "new" route from Zarautz to Getaria, mostly because the golden arrows were bigger and also because it was flat (albeit paved) and had a view of the ocean.  Tomorrow I have no idea where I'd like to make it.  I don't have a map and I'm not letting myself research it on the internet.   This way I'm more likely to talk to people.  If three nights from now I'm in Bilbao I'll be happy.  I think I'll be more or less right on schedule.  

And finally, the body.  My body.  My hips feel tight.  Extremely tight.  I noticed after eating a snack in Zarautz and cinching the waist strap tight that I was limping a little bit because of my left hip.  I walked part of the way to Getaria using just the shoulder straps and once I got going loosened up a bit.  I do stretch!  Usually an hour or two into the day I stretch for a little bit.  Do I stretch at the end of the day? No.  I flop down into a bed.  My friend Skyla would say this is terrible, but it feels right.  And also: I don't mean to claim I'm super-human but I don't have a single blister.  Yet.  On descents a few times I felt the ball of my right food threatening but all I do is zigzag and it seems to fix the problem.  My left knee didn't really click today, either, which was a bonus.  

I didn't have any mystical realizations about myself or the world or my place in the world today.  Thank God.  Kidding.  Sort of.  I know this walk is in part about getting in touch with your spiritual side and "finding yourself".  But I don't want to find a whole new Mark because I'm pretty happy with the Mark I already have.  I just want to bring all the good parts out, and banish all the bad parts to the bottom of the Bay of Biscayne or a forgotten part of the Gipuzkoa countryside.  People do this walk for all sorts of reasons.  I don't really know what mine are.  Because it's fun.  Because it's challenging.  Because at the end of the day you can eat a whole pizza to yourself and not feel bad about it.  Maybe I'll figure out my real reasons further down the road.  Maybe I'll come to realizations that are life-changing and earth shattering. 

But more importantly:  maybe I'll get to wear my poncho.  

A lonely boat plies the blustery Basque waters. 

Favorite arrow of the day.  I felt like I was in a medieval movie walking through this hollow. 

Deer in headlights.  Wearing hood made from brothers in background.  

Almost there.  

First on-trail peregrino encounter!  His name was Carlos and he was from Barcelona. I let him go on ahead.  

Off-shore?

The coolest diving board in the world.....into 4ft. of water. 

Home sweet Getaria.  

#campdoug  #natallica  #damndoo  #formidable  #thebergler  #coolinmyheels