where the sidewalk ends

Camino truths:
How to backpack 240 miles across Spain and not lose weight, while losing everything else; how to downgrade technology and hygiene; how to surrender and also discover small treasures at airports

-snoring Korean men: a friend warned me about this phenomena, but I thought that even she (an unprejudiced travel pro if there ever was one) was overdramatizing the situation. Folks, add this to the stereotype that Koreans are always snapping (high quality) photos. One night in a hostel lower bunk bed, I was startled awake by my body shaking, from its core- the remarkable and unintentional efforts of a middle aged man named Juan whose naval cavity strength reverberated from the upper bunk of a bed across the room from me. Equally surprising and memorable was when his friend, the day before, stuck his finger in my puss-oozing foot blister to administer a cream I hadn’t asked for.

-forgetting everything: not just the usual foam ear plugs and writing pens (check, double check). I’m talking my parents’ camera, which I walked an extra mile to recover. My journal, left on a regional bus. My iPod.
Most irritating of all, my wallet, which I discovered was missing when I tried buying bread at a panaderia. I left it back in Villafranca’s albergue, a solid 20k behind me. I prayed God would send me sympathetic motorists, and quickly, who would safely transport me to and from my remote village location. My prayer was answered almost immediately, by 3 different Spanish men. The first spoke English and was a bank director, the second a hostel worker, the third an old gentleman cruising to music from an 80’s shoulder boom box. Two tried to buy me coffee, and all three got out of the car and personally delivered my backpack to the door of my destination. I think being a lone female in off-tourist season wearing a knee brace helped my case.

-traveling joint pain: First the left knee, injured from cliff jumping in Sicily a couple years ago, reminded me of its high maintenance after walking 34k mostly down a steep mountain. Then the right, which was busy overcompensating for the left. Right hip, making up for both jacked up knees. Left hip, just to keep things balanced. Also, my new chiropractor thinks I have some torn nerves along my spine. All I have to do is take a deep breath, and my back pops in a couple places.

-stupidity and rudeness from my countrymen: I met only 5 Americans in 3 weeks on the Camino. The first was the best- superhuman walking speed, more knowledgeable than a history book, open, and kind among other things. The others proved to be the worst people I met on the Camino: three 20-something’s from different states that were fake, pompous, and hateful. The last was a polite 73 year old pilgrim, who wound up sleeping in a jail cell for a night as a result of not understanding Spanish, abandoning hope of finding lodging, and sympathetic policemen who didn’t want him to freeze on the street.

-declining clothing cleanliness: I brought 2 pairs of clothing, wearing both every day. After day 1 of walking, I got cleaned up then set out to hand-wash my clothes in the proper sink. By day 5, after walking an average of 8 hours each day, spending another 45 minutes washing clothes wasn’t so appealing. I overheard wisdom from a Swedish friend singing Johnny Cash in the showers- why not multitask cleaning my body and clothes? After 2 weeks, I gave up on even wetting them, just spraying perfume strategically.

-walking through hail is more enjoyable than rain. Moving through hail is like playing Mario in a video game, dodging those Venus Flytraps’ fireballs- only slightly dangerous, but still fun. Moving through rain is like involuntarily picking at a scab past the point of satisfaction and into regret for ever thinking it could work out for you.

-“green”= excuse to be cheap. Initially arriving in Spain, I applauded the motion-sensor bathroom technology as a means to reduce energy and wastefulness. But after sprinting from light switch to commode to rush nature’s call (which shouldn’t be rushed in the first place) and it turning off before removing necessary garments, I began to wonder. Once I was showering next to 3 others (different stalls) in a monastery’s shared bathroom with 4 toilets, 3 sinks, 1 clothes washing station and the light went out after being on for 1 minute. Is it really rational to think that a room with those facilities would only need 1 minute of light at a time? Also, there were always soap and paper towel dispensers, neither ever stocked.

-no machines: I used a combined 40 minutes internet over 3 weeks, had no phone for 2 weeks, and used no transport of any kind (minus the hitching to and from where I had already walked) for 2 weeks

-no weight or mass loss:
*24-34km walking each day, PLUS
*carbs for energy + house red wine+ local chocolate liquor + northern Spain’s pork obsession + my usual 2-3x daily sweets (this time mostly flan variations and Santiago almond caked with powdered sugar), PLUS
*daily surplus of fruits and veggies, none of which seemed to have effect,
EQUALS looking exactly the same (and it was only a couple weeks of intense exercise)

-a priest’s blessing, great start & finish to Camino: before walking my first day, a friend took me to Saint Isidore’s chapel in León. The priest, who spoke only his mother tongue (like most Spaniards), realized by our giant packs we were peregrinos and motioned us to the first row pew by the altar. He brought out English translations of a prayer in honor of this saint, asking God to protect our bodies and bless our souls along the journey. We were humbled and excited.
At the final walking destination, Cathedral of Santiago, I was blessed by another priest during communion.

-meeting extraordinary and lovely people: I went alone, knowing I wouldn’t really be alone. If anything, I met too many folks worth spending time with that I didn’t get enough time to process while in country.

-starting the Sabbath with wine: and not through communion. The first Saturday was in Astorga, where I added a bottle of 1 euro vino tinto to my groceries with the assurance of 3 friends to help drink it that night. We wound up with the biggest feast I had on the Camino, the per-head price including bottles of various delicious regional alcohol. Not wanting to overdo it, I decided to save the bottle for the next day. But why carry a liter of wine for 8 hours when it can be ceremonially shared with friends before hiking instead? I convinced 2 Swiss gents and 2 German gals to swap swigs at 8:30am, two of which added the wine to their water for subtle flavor throughout the day.
The second Saturday night was spent in Ferreira, cooking pasta and eating chocolate with German Dori and Lisa. Lisa jokingly reminded me to save some for the next morning, per tradition, and we drank from a symbolic glass in my right hiking boot the next morning before our walk.
The last Sabbath was spent finishing a bottle of the Bailey’s-like chocolate liquor as a sleep aid on a night bus and in the airport outside security.

-airport item swaps: coming to Spain, I brought a pair of TSA-approved scissors (less than 4 inch blades). Coming back to the U.S., they were apprehended in Madrid (though they had made it into the same airport 3 weeks prior).
I was glad my special mystery-fruit preserve, the size of a brick, wasn’t considered a liquid; after all, it was a food souvenir to accompany the 10 pains aux chocolats I would nibble on for months. Newark security agents didn’t agree, and chunked my beloved brick.
On the up-side, I found a sleeping bag in the women’s restroom trashcan in Madrid and claimed it. My friend who loaned me her lightweight sleeping bag and did the Camino spoke of a Trail of Stuff- people realizing they were carrying unnecessary weight and dumping useful cargo on the side of the path for others. Because I joined in the beginning of the season and during the last third of the way, I didn’t get to see this; imagine my surprise in discovering a purple woman’s mummy sleeping bag, lightweight, for cold conditions, of good quality.
I unrolled it to make sure I wasn’t accidentally signing up as a drug mule, or that it was actually ripped. It smelled as good or better than all my fabric items did, and I had space, et voila.