Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

Flaubert

Okay, here it is, as promised, the post about finishing up our Camino experience in Portugal (prepare yourself, it’s a long one)…

Where did we leave off? Oh yeah, Porto. We spent only one night there. It was a beautiful city and worth another visit in the future, but we were in need of some sunshine. The last two days of drizzling rain in Finisterre and now Porto had us ready for the three S’s: sunshine, sand, and surf. All of those things could be found further south, which was our goal as we got up the next morning in our cozy little AirBnB. But first, laundry and coffee… in that order.

We woke up rather early for two people on vacation and began our search for the nearest laundromat. Fortunately, it was not too far from the cafe where we could get the free breakfast that came with our AirBnB. A short time later, fully caffeinated and carrying a bag full of clean clothes, we returned to our room to pack our bags like backpackers once again. This would be the last time, at least until we flew back to the states, that we would need to worry about carrying all of our stuff on our backs. With our packs strapped on, we stepped back outside into the overcast morning and made our way to the closest metro station, only a couple blocks away.

At the station we checked the map and found the easiest route to the airport (take the E train to the last stop). The metro train was fast and clean, and in 30 minutes we were at the airport. We didn’t head for the departure level though, as we were not leaving Porto by plane. Instead, we walked to the arrival/baggage claim level and hopped on the little bus that would take us to the rental car center. That’s right, after 36 days of relying on just our feet and public transportation to carry us where we wanted to go, we were now hitting the road in true American fashion, behind the wheel of our very own automobile.

I’ll be honest, it was a strange sensation sitting in the driver seat after so long traveling by foot. I’d like to say that we jumped into that car, adjusted the seat and mirrors, found first gear and peeled out of that parking lot like a bat outa hell. In reality, though, I had a hard time even figuring out how to get the little Renault rental started. We were in that parking lot for an uncomfortable amount of time as we got ourselves adjusted to this strange environment that we had been away from for so long. Eventually we did settle in and then, grinning from ear to ear, we were off down the road looking for the signs pointing south.

That lasted for about three kilometers before we realized that we needed to switch rolls. During our trip to France a couple years before, we came to a hard fought understanding that, when driving together in a foreign land where the signs are in another language, it was better for Jen to drive and for me to navigate (navi-guess?). Portugal was no different, apparently, so I found a safe place to pull over and we switched seats. Mirrors, seats, and attitudes properly adjusted, we were off once more down the highway. And yes, in case you were wondering, Jen did peel out a little.

Four hours and only one wrong turn later, we found ourselves pulling into the beautiful town of Lagos, Portugal. Jen had been here years ago, long before we had even met, and had always talked about returning one day. Lagos is located on the southern coast of Portugal in a region called the Algarves. Here, the rocky coastline and crystal clear Atlantic Ocean meet to create beautiful rock formations and post card perfect beach coves. The sun had broken through during our drive and I was blown away by what I saw when we pulled into town.

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We checked into a little studio and took pleasure in the fact that we could unpack our bags and they would stay that way for two days. Not only that but, because we had a car, we could go grocery shopping and not have to worry about packing and carrying all the food in our bags. Our storage space went from being just two backpacks to being the entire trunk of a car. Now we could get food other than just bread, peanut butter, and jelly (though we would still get those things because peanut butter and jelly is awesome).

Unfortunately, by the time we were done shopping the clouds had rolled in and the sky was gray once more. We didn’t let it stop us from exploring though. We took the car into town and walked the cobbled streets until dinner time.

The next morning we awoke to thick coastal fog. Heading out to the local lighthouse, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the Algarves and the coast of California. We walked along the nature trails that snaked around the cliffs and coves, breathing in the salt air and wishing the clouds away. It was not to be, however, and I resigned myself to the fact that our time in Lagos would be like the last few days in Finisterre and Porto, cold and gray.

On the bright side, through a series of chance and coincidence, some friends we had made on the Camino happened to be in Lagos at the same time as us. We had first met Juan and Luis, two brothers from the States, on day 10 in the little town of Groñon. We saw them off and on for the next couple days but then Juan had a bad foot injury sometime after that and had to stop walking. Luis kept going and we ran into him again on day 30 just outside of Palas de Rei… and he was not alone.

The original plan for Juan and Luis was to have their daughters meet them in Sarria to walk the last 100 km of the Camino to Santiago. Since Juan had quit early, he and his daughter decided to go visit Italy instead. Lizbeth, Luis’s daughter, kept up her end of the deal and walked with her father into Santiago. After that, the four of them reconnected and, like so many other pilgrims do, headed down to Portugal for some much needed R&R.

While we were hiking out to Finisterre, Jen kept in touch with Lizbeth via Whatsapp and Facebook. In Porto she realized they would still be in Lagos when we got there so we made plans for a reunion. On our second night in Lagos, at a restaurant above the municipal fish market, we sat outside and shared a fantastic meal with members of our Camino family. It was great to see Juan again and meet his daughter, and seeing Luis and Lizbeth, who both walked into Santiago with Jen and I, made us feel as if we were back on the trail again. It was a magical evening filled with tall tales, stories, good drinks, great food, and unforgettable friends.

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The next morning we awoke to more gray skies. The forecast called for sunshine later that morning but we didn’t stick around in Lagos. Honestly, Jen was a little disappointed to see that the beautiful sleepy coastal town she had visited so many years ago had become a major tourist destination. You know what they say about nostalgia, it’s not what it used to be. So, after a quick breakfast we loaded up the car and hit the road once more. Destination? The end of the world.

The most southwestern point of continental Europe is Cape St. Vincent, just outside the little town of Sagres, Portugal and less than an hour drive from Lagos. We made a quick pit-stop at one of the beaches in Lagos to dip our toes in the water before driving out of town. With Jen at the wheel and me navi-guessing once more, we continued our quest for sunshine.

Recommended by Rick Steves as his favorite little town in the Algarves is a sleepy beach/fishing community named Salema. We decided to stop there for lunch and, as we drove down the winding little road into town we could see the clouds parting. Our quest was complete. We had found the sand, the surf, and now the sun. After a stroll along the beach we splurged and bought each other a coke to have with our PB&J sandwiches. Salema reminded me a lot of a little town in Northern California called Rio Del Mar. Both are very small beach communities, which may be great for Rick Steves, but we were looking for a little more. After lunch we hopped back in the rental car and continued heading west.

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Sagres is slightly bigger than Salema but not as big as Lagos. Being the tail end of the off season, it also had a sleepy feel to it, but the vibe was much younger. Sagres straddles Cape St. Vincent which means the western coastline faces the Atlantic Ocean and has some great surf spots. On almost every corner in Sagres there is a surf shop or some kind of business catering to that crowd. It’s not that Jen or I planned to do any surfing, the water was much too cold for us, but anyone who’s been to a “surf town” knows that they walk a fine line between being full blown touristy and hippie commune. In other words, I felt right at home.

We checked into our room at a cute little villa on the edge of town. No ocean view there but we didn’t plan on spending much time in the room anyway. As soon as our bags were unpacked we went back out to explore. Sagres has plenty of little hidden gems to find if you are looking. There are quiet beaches with calm, clear waters facing south. Facing west there are rugged coastlines with cliffs giving way to tiny beach coves with great surfing and cool beach bars. There’s a huge fort and, at the tip of the cape, a beautiful lighthouse. It was there that we got to see what we missed in Finisterre… the sunset.

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We stayed in Sagres for two days, relaxing on the beaches and soaking up the sun. Then it was back in the car for the last leg of our journey up to Lisbon. We took the long road, avoiding the highways as much as possible, and wondered through farmlands, tiny villages with white washed buildings, and through countryside filled with cork trees stripped of their bark. By early afternoon we were crossing the Tagus river over the 25 de Abril bridge into Lisbon. When we arrived we were happily surprised to find that the room we had booked was actually a tiny loft apartment, complete with a tiny kitchen and bathroom.

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Now that the sun was out, the temperature quickly rose and it felt like we had jumped right over spring and into summer. We parked the car, unpacked our stuff, and set out on foot to explore. Getting around on foot or via public transportation is quick and easy so we just left the car parked where it was for the two days we were there.

Lisbon is a beautiful city witch stretches out along the northern banks of the Tagus River. There are many different neighborhoods, each with its own character, charm, and history. Despite the heat, we walked almost everywhere we wanted to go, with the exception of hopping on the trolley near the apartment to get to and from the city center. We did and saw so many amazing things while in Lisbon that it would be impossible to recount them all here. Two days was not enough time.

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All good things must come to an end, however, and Lisbon was as a perfect place to conclude our European adventure. Two uneventful flights and 12 hours later we were back in the States. Less than 48 hours after that we would be on the road again, this time heading to visit Jen’s family in Nebraska. But that, as they say, is another story.

Buen camino everybody. The next time we post, all going well, it will be from Panama.

A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.

Lao Tse

I know, I know, it’s been a while since our last post… sorry. I could say that Jen and I have been extremely busy but that would be a big fat fib. The reality is that we have been back in the States for over a month now and haven’t done anything really worth writing about. Even worse than that, we fell back into the old trappings of “ordinary” life, which these days seem to be mostly looking into black mirrors, and I lost my motivation to keep writing.

That’s not to say we spent all of our time mindlessly staring at our phones searching the bottomless pit of the internet for distractions. No, when we first returned from Spain and Portugal we headed straight out on a road trip to Nebraska to visit family and celebrate our niece Libby’s high school graduation. Though, I think I’m getting ahead of myself… or falling behind?

Our last update was about our time in Porto and I promised to finish telling about our time in Lagos, Sagres, and Lisbon at a later date. I didn’t mean for it to be so much later, but please have a little more patience. This post is not about that amazing week. This post is to update everyone on our next adventure.

Prior to heading out on the Camino de Santiago, Jen and I had signed up to a website called CrewSeekers.net, which connects boat owners looking for crew with people like us who are “living large on a small budget,” as Jen likes to say. The initial goal was to finish the Camino and then find a Captain looking for crew in Europe somewhere (e.g. Spain, France, Italy, Croatia, Greece, etc.). When we returned to the States, we continued with this goal, broadening our search criteria to include, well, pretty much anywhere, actually.

As we had an event to attend in Jacksonville at the end of June, we decided to give ourselves until then to find a connection on CrewSeekers. If we couldn’t find anything by then we would start considering other options, including (gasp!) cutting our sabbatical short and returning to the working world.

After some failed connections and false starts, it seemed as if reality was catching up with us. I was on the verge of having to get mentally prepared for the worst when, on June 30th, Jen asked if I had ever heard back from a Captain I had been emailing a week earlier. “No, haven’t heard anything,” I said. But then, as if by magic, I habitually checked my cell phone and noticed a new email from CrewSeekers. There it was, our next adventure…

Okay, here it is: In two weeks we depart Florida and fly down to Panama. From there we will meet up in Puerto Lindo with the captain and owner of a 45 foot sailboat. We will then assist him through the Canal (which has been on my bucket list for a long time) and then across the Pacific to Hawaii; a distance of approximately 4,700 nautical miles. The owner of the sailboat has a charter business in Maui and is looking to add this 2013 Beneteau Oceanis 45 to his fleet for sunset sails, snorkeling, and whale watching trips. For those interested, here’s a link to info on the boat:

OCEANIS 45 (BENETEAU)

All going well and weather permitting, the trip should take about five to six weeks. That should get us into Hawaii around the first week of September, though I’ll update that once we have a more firm departure date from Panama. For now, I’m sure there will be a lot of questions, which we are happy to try and answer, so please feel free to use the comment section below. This way everyone can see the questions and we can avoid having to answer the same question more than once.

As for the end of our last trip in Portugal, I promise the next post will be about that amazing week and will include lots of pretty pictures. Until then, buen camino!

For this story, I have decided there is no need to change people’s names. There are no “guilty parties,” and so no need to protect the innocent with aliases. This isn’t that type of story. No, this story is about the power of marketing and, when done properly, how even the simplest idea can have the power to create very special moments for your customers, moments that they talk about for a very long time.

It was a cold and rainy day on the Meseta as Jen, Nicky, and I began our daily walk. It was a Thursday, actually. I remember the day of the week because it was the day we crossed the halfway point of the Camino Francés route. But that happened later in the day and, though it is a special moment in the life of a pilgrim, for us it was not the most memorable thing that happened on that day. For the three of us, and several other pilgrims not far behind us on the trail, what we remember most is a hand-made sign posted to a make-shift post just outside of the little village of San Nicolas and, most of all, we remember where that sign would lead us.

As a pilgrim, you are always on the lookout for signs. Mostly you look for yellow arrows or scallop shells but when you are looking for one sign, you tend to look at them all. Perhaps the person who posted this sign was a pilgrim once and so they understood this concept. That is what makes their marketing strategy work. After all, what business would ever be successful if they didn’t know their customers?

The sign, which was advertising a bar in San Nicolas, exploited three known facts about pilgrims.  First, as stated before, we are always on the lookout for signs.  Second, we are also always on the lookout for the best café and/or bar in whatever village we happen to be passing through (remember Ulli’s shortest Camino joke, “A pilgrim walks by a bar…”).  Third, and most important, most pilgrims are educated enough to know who Socrates was.  If Socrates likes the place, why wouldn’t we?

After reading the sign, the three of us mused about whether or not we should heed its advice.  Would the second bar really be better than the first?  The first bar was usually good simply because it was the first bar (i.e. you didn’t have to walk as far to get to it).  Sure enough, as we strolled into the village the first bar did look very inviting.  Through the windows covering its patio we could see that it was clean, warm, and dry.  However, there were no other pilgrims visible through the windows and curiosity is a very powerful thing.  We continued on and as we walked down the street we noticed another sign saying that the second bar was next to the plaza in front of the church.

San Nicolas, fortunately, was not a big village.  The church was visible from the first bar so we knew we didn’t have far to wonder.  But this small village did have a sleepy feel to it.  Would the second bar even be open?  Not being the high-season for the Camino, many shops and businesses did not keep regular hours.  As we rounded the corner into the plaza, it seemed the second bar might fall into this category.  I looked at the tables and plastic chairs stacked neatly outside the bar entrance and feared that they may only be the coolest bar during the high-season, all other times they are the closed bar.  There was only one way to be sure.

The three of us walked across the plaza, opened the door, peaked into the bar and caught the gaze of the bartender.  “¿Es la segunda bar?” I asked.  He smiled broadly, putting down the glass he was polishing.  “Si, si,” he said, ushering us in with the wave of his hand.  We were, apparently, the first pilgrims of the day as the rest of the bar was completely empty.  We all smiled in relief as we placed our backpacks on the floor and hung up our rain soaked jackets.  Before we could even sit down we had each placed our coffee orders and the bartender quickly got to work.

As we waited on our barstools we checked out our surroundings.  Yeah, this place had a good vibe to it.  Low ceilings with wood beams running across, Spanish tile floors, white plaster walls, and plenty of odd knick-knacks and art arranged tastefully throughout the bar and restaurant gave the place a warm, inviting feel.  It reminded me of an authentic Mexican restaurant you might find in central California somewhere.  When the coffee was served, we knew we had found a good place to warm up out of the cold.  When the food arrived, however, we knew why Socrates was such a fan of the second bar.

I ordered a typical sandwich with egg, chorizo, lettuce, and tomato; nothing too special but the lettuce was crunchy and the tomato was literally bursting with flavor.  Nicky ordered the fruit with chia seed and almond milk pudding, topped with local honey.  Jen ordered something similar but much bigger, the Fruitopía.  This was a large bowl of fruit, topped with oatmeal, onto which the bartender poured fresh squeezed orange juice.  Jen was practically giddy with delight as she watched him do this and her eyes practically rolled to the back of her head as she took her first bite.

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Food, as I’m sure you can imagine, and I’m certain I’ve mentioned before, is an important part of pilgrim living.  One cannot live on tortilla y potata or tostada alone, though pilgrims come pretty close to doing just that.  So, when we find a place where the food is slightly different than our regular diet of Spanish omelets and pilgrim menus, we quickly want to share the good news, especially when the food is as good as what we had at the Second Bar.

Not long after receiving our food, Dirk and Ulli poked their heads through the door, both with the same puzzled looks on their faces that we had when we arrived.  “Is this the second bar?” asked Ulli.  “Yes, it is,” we all exclaimed.  “You found the right place, now try this food.  It’s amazing!” said Jen.  In clear violation of pilgrim etiquette, Jen did not even give the two Germans time to set down their backpacks before pulling them over to where she was seated at the bar and forcing them to admire her huge bowl of fresh fruit.

It wasn’t long after Dirk and Ulli arrived that four more pilgrims walked in; Robyn, Maggie, Cameron, and George from Georgia (the country, not the state) again, all with the same bewildered looks on their faces.  It seems that all of us had followed the advice of that home-made, hand-painted sign one kilometer outside of town that asked us to forego our usual pilgrim thinking and try something new… the second bar.

We could have stayed in there all day, avoiding the cold and rain and feeding our bellies with happy treats from the kitchen.  The Camino calls, though, so we finished our meals and put on our rain coats and backpacks.  As we were doing this, Yann and Marie walked in with that look on their faces, though the look quickly disappeared when they saw all of the familiar pilgrims inside already stuffing their smiling and happy faces.  Apparently, many more of our pilgrim friends found the second bar after we left as this was a common topic of conversation that evening, and for the rest of the Camino, actually.

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In fact, during the Camino 100 (this is what we called the last 100 km from Sarria to Santiago), when the throngs of Tourigrinos would swarm on the first bar of every little village, those of us in the know knew to continue past the mass of people and look for the second bar.  As the weekend pilgrims elbowed their way through lines to order watered down café con leche and day-old tortilla y potata, the more experienced pilgrims, those of us who had been walking for weeks, knew to keep on walking.  We knew that just around the corner was another bar, one where we would find our friends already sitting down with warm drinks and smiling faces.  “I’ll see you at the second bar,” became a familiar saying as pilgrims said goodbye to each other every morning before hitting the trail.

All of this because of a simple sign on a post just outside of a sleepy little Spanish village named San Nicolas.  So, keep this in mind when you are trying to get someone’s attention, you don’t always need a billboard or a fancy social media strategy.  Sometimes a few pieces of wood, some paint, and a little creativity are all it takes.  And if you’re not convinced, imagine what the owner of the first bar in San Nicolas is thinking as he watches every single pilgrim walk straight past his bar and disappear down the tiny street around the corner.

Wow, okay, that’s a depressing way to end this story.  Here, enjoy these pictures of funny knick-knacks from the original Second Bar.

Buen Camino!

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All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware.

Martin Buber

I know what you’re thinking, “But Mike, you and Jen finished the Camino de Santiago weeks ago. How could this be an update from the Camino?” Technically, you are correct. Jen and I finished the Camino when we reached Santiago de Compostela, the official destination of every pilgrim on the Way of St. James. So why, if that is supposed to be the official end, are there arrows pointing onward to Finisterre? Could it be that the Way of St. James is not the only “way?” If that’s the case, why does one’s “way” have to end at Finisterre? Do the yellow shells and arrows guiding you along the path define “the way” or is it the destination?

A hundred years ago there were no arrows guiding pilgrims, just the sun and the moon, and a few helpful people along the way pointing toward Santiago. It was the destination that mattered, not necessarily the route they took to get there. So, as Jen and I continue our sabbatical, I would argue that we are still on “the way,” just on a different path and toward a different destination. After Finisterre, that destination was Portugal.

Following a long and winding bus ride from Finisterre we ended up back in Santiago de Compostela. Fortunately, it was only a short layover so I didn’t have time to get all mopey again about the Camino being over and finished. Jen and I grabbed a quick bite at the restaurant across from the station and then hopped on another bus to Porto, Portugal.

The bus ride was uneventful, with the exception that it took Jen and I a little while to get used to the sensation of hurtling down a major highway at 100 kph in a giant metal box on wheels. After over a month of traveling by foot, averaging 4.5 kph (that includes stops for coffee, second breakfast, lunch, etc.) we were now traveling, in a matter of minutes, distances that before would have taken us days.

We arrived into Portugal in the afternoon on a Tuesday. I mention the day of the week because, apparently, this particular Tuesday, the one that happens to fall in the first week of May, is the peak of Porto’s Queima das Fitas ceremony, the Cortejo Académico.

Like two strangers in a strange land, Jen and I stumbled onto this celebration and could not figure out what was happening. Was this a parade? It couldn’t be an Easter procession; that was weeks ago. Was there some Catholic holiday that we didn’t know about? The top hats and canes pointed to “no” on that question but, if it wasn’t a religious holiday, what in the world could bring thousands of people out onto the streets on a Tuesday afternoon? After trying to wrap our brains around what was happening, Jen couldn’t take the “not-knowing” anymore. Ever the extrovert, she walked straight up to two young men, one sporting the top hat, the other wearing some type of cloak, and she straight up asked them (in English because we know very little Portuguese) what the hell is going on around here?

The two gentlemen were happy to answer Jen’s query and explained, as best they could in their broken English, all that was going on. Apparently, this was a parade… of sorts; more of a crazy presentation, actually, of the university students. You see, in Porto, in order to graduate from the university, or even move up to the next grade (i.e. junior to senior, sophomore to junior, and freshmen to sophomore) you must present yourself to the citizens and the Mayor of Porto. Also apparent was the fact that, in the States, we are doing graduation ceremonies all wrong.

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I mean, look at those pictures. No ugly cap and gowns for these graduates, no, no, no… These graduates wear coat tails, colored top hats and carry matching canes. The colors represent their college of study at the university (e.g. economics, medicine, engineering, etc.). Each college is treated like a fraternity so even the lower classmen are involved in this ceremony. Even the Mayor of the city is involved.

We listened to the gentleman’s broken English as he continued to explain. From what we could gather, the parade started at 2 pm with the seniors. In true university fashion, it was already 4 pm and the parade route was empty. At some point, he explained, the seniors, dressed to the nines in top-hats and tails, would start to walk the parade route from Clérigos Church, down through Liberdade Square, and past City Hall. In front of City Hall they greet the Mayor, usually with a song or chant from their college. The mayor greets them back and, at that point, the seniors have officially graduated.

The parade continues with the juniors, sans hat and in less fancy attire, walking the same route and presenting themselves to the Mayor as well. Like the seniors before them, once the Mayor returns their greeting they move on to the next chapter of their education and become the next senior class. This continues with the sophomores, in even less flattering attire, digressing to ever lower forms of depravity as the freshmen are presented. The freshmen, dressed in matching, themed costumes, must walk/run the route as they are egged on by the upperclassmen. Once in front of city hall, they must then crawl on their hands and knees in front of the Mayor, all the while chanting and singing songs of their college.

All of this was only the final ceremony of a traditional celebration that had been taking place for the past three days. Already dazed and confused from just finishing our Camino, Jen and I could only stare in amazement at what was happening around us: parades, light hazing of underclassmen, songs, top-hats and canes, costumes, adult beverages, and huge party wagons being pulled by semi-trucks. As Phil Rosenthal would say, “Come on!” It was almost enough to make you want to go back to school again so you could take part in this celebration… almost. Anyway, here’s the Wikipedia link if you want to learn a bit more about Queima das Fitas:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queima_das_Fitas

As for the rest of Porto, it is a beautiful city. The cloudy weather we had in Finisterre followed us to Portugal but that didn’t deter us from walking, or in my case hobbling, around the ancient city. Regrettably, we were only there for one night, but the Camino had taught us, among other things, how to maximize fun in a new city over a short period of time. Besides, why stay in a cold, cloudy city when the sun and sandy beaches of southern Portugal were calling? Stay tuned everyone, the next post will cover our time soaking up the sun in Lagos and Sagres. Until then, here’s a few more pics from Porto.

Buen Camino!

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The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page. – Saint Augustine

Well, we did it.  This is the first blog post in over 35 days that is not being written on the Camino.  So many things have happened this past week, I can’t even wrap my head around it.  A week ago we were only 14 km outside of Santiago de Compostela and celebrating a great evening with friends.  Now, it’s just Jen and I with a rental car down in Lagos, Portugal (which is awesome, by the way).  The days in between were a rollercoaster of excitement and emotion filled with celebrations, farewells, and copious amounts of Spanish beer and wine.

We didn’t quit the Camino cold turkey, though.  Santiago was the final destination for some but, for us and a few others, 800 km across northern Spain was not enough.  No, we had to go the extra 89.6 km to the “End of the Earth,” Finisterre.  For me, those were the toughest miles of walking on the entire Camino.  But I’ll get to that later.  Let me tell you about what I remember from Santiago.

First, as promised in my last post, we did get up at the butt-crack of dawn in O Pedrouzo so that we could arrive into Santiago in time for the noon mass.  At 06:30 we stood waiting for our fellow pilgrims who, at dinner the night before (and after only a few bottles of vino), had declared that they, too, would get up before the sun to join us for the last part of our pilgrimage into Santiago de Compostela.  It was, apparently, a rough night for some as not all of those who pledged to walk with us made it to the designated meeting point in front of the Dia Supermercado.

Several did make it, however, and our merry band of pilgrims set off, flashlights in hand and head-lamps mounted, toward our goal.  We made short work of our journey too, only stopping for coffee twice along the way.  This was the first time for Jenny and I, and I would suspect the others as well, that we had walked with such a large group for such a long time.  For the previous 33 days we might walk with others for a few hours, at most, before one or all of us would resume our different paces, always planning to meet at the next town or albergue.  This day was more meaningful, though, and it was important to all of us that we walk into Santiago together.  Several of us had met each other along the trail, maybe only one or two weeks prior.  Others of us had known each other from day one, sharing our first pilgrim’s dinner in Roncesvalle after crossing the Pyrenees.

For 34 days we had all drifted apart and come back together again, like good friends from high-school who reconnect at their 20 year class reunion.  Now, as we crossed the final threshold and entered the Praza de Obradoiro in front of the Cathedral, it began to hit me; this was the end of our journey.  Tomorrow, we would not be meeting these friends for coffee or at the second bar in the next town.  This was it.  Yes, I shed a few tears, but there was little time for reflection.

In the plaza waiting to congratulating us with open arms were other pilgrims we had met who had either just finished or had gotten in the day before.  Hugs and huge manly pats on the back followed and then we were off to the Cathedral de San Francisco for the noon mass.  I barely had time to take pictures.

After mass we rushed off to the Compostela office where we would officially present our pilgrim passports, complete with stamps, and receive our Compostelas the official certificate proving that you have walked the Way of St. James.  Traditionally, for true Catholic pilgrims walking the Camino as a form of penance, the Compostela would be taken back (yes, traditionally a true pilgrim would walk the same route back home) to their hometown church to be presented to the religious authorities there.  Only then would they receive their penence.  Man, sometimes I’m glad I’m not Catholic and/or living in medieval times.

But, back to the story…  After submitting our pilgrim passports for review (we could retrieve them later that evening at 7:00 pm) we found several other pilgrim friends sitting outside at a nearby bar (remember Ulli’s shortest joke?).  Anyway, our merry band of pilgrims had now multiplied and was taking up most of one side of the street.  To get to the Compostela office from the plaza one must walk right by where we had camped out so, inevitably, the multiplication of friends took an exponential turn and we soon invaded the bar across the street as well.

It was soon clear that much joy and celebration was to be had in Santiago, and we were all in.  It wasn’t long before Jen and I were moving on to another location, this one behind the Cathedral, where another group of friends had invited us to meet them.  Soon the afternoon was turning to evening and we had not even checked into our AirBnB yet.  Fortunately, the location of our hostel was only a two-minute walk from where we had camped out.

Loosing track of time when one arrives into Santiago as a pilgrim must be a regular occurence as our hostel host was only slightly annoyed when we arrived at 5 pm.  We had told them we would be there by 2 pm when we made the booking.  Oops, my bad… buen camino?

Shave, showers, the added luxury of a hair-dryer in the room (for Jen, silly), and we were off again back to the second bar to meet more pilgrims.  After a couple of “one-and-dones” with them we said farewell and headed back to the first bar where a huge group of pilgrim friends awaited us.  Two bottles of wine… and then I lost it.  It hit me again, hard this time, that this was the last time many of us would see each other again.

Some of these people we wouldn’t see for days or even weeks on the Camino but we knew they were out there.  Through the Camino grape-vine we would learn that someone was a day in front of us or two days behind us, always somewhere where we could meet up with them again.  Now, as I sipped my Crianza from Rioja, the realization that we were all going back to our normal lives kept creeping into my thoughts.  Thirty-four days on the Camino was one of the hardest things Jen or I had done and we had shared that experience with these people.  One of them, Brandon, who was standing next to me at that moment, Jen and I had met on the way up to Orisson on day one.  It was fitting that we had ended in Santiago on the same day with him, but this was the end of his Camino.  We had more to do.

The following day Jen and I would start the next phase of our Camino, the almost 90 km walk to Finisterre, and almost all of the people celebrating in Santiago with us would not be on that Camino.  I tried to hide my tears but some saw them anyway and they knew why, wiping away their own tears.  “A toast, everyone!” someone said in some other language, “Ultreia!” they belted.  “Et Suseia!” we cheered and raised our glasses.  Beers, tears, and wine… what better way to celebrate what we all had accomplished as Pilgrims on the Way of St. James?

And the sea calls.  The next morning Jen and I packed our backpacks once more.  Leaving Santiago was extremely hard.  First, there are plenty of arrows leading you to Santiago but, heading away from Praza do Obradoiro toward Finisterre, the arrows are not so easy to find at first.  Second, you know that other friends that you met along the Way are finishing that day (Yann, Marie, Alice, and so many more) and you want to be there in the plaza when they arrive to welcome them with open arms.  But you have 22 km to go before the next town and you’ve already delayed your departure for too long.  Lastly, you know that there are few, if any, fellow pilgrim friends in front of you.  Not many choose to continue on to Finisterra, the end of the Earth.  Knowing that you are leaving the last 34 days of your life (that’s 238 dog days) behind you is hard.  Jen and I finally headed out on the trail around 10:30 am, our latest departure ever, and I was already exhausted, emotionally that is.

The next three days were incredible, and yet, it was like starting a whole new Camino.  The kilometer markers that had been counting down to zero going into Santiago suddenly jumped back up to 89.6 km.  The hordes of pilgrims that we had suffered through after Sarria were gone.  For hours at a time on that first day out of Santiago, Jen and I were the only people on the trail.  The Camino felt a little lonely.  I couldn’t imagine doing this without Jen and being actually alone.

So we soldiered on for this new Camino and eventually found friends from before, Ginny and Bec.  The magic Camino magnet was still working, bringing those left on the trail back together.  But our pace was quicker and at the end of the second day we decided to put a few more miles under our shoes before calling it a night.

I would say that about half of the pilgrims who choose to walk to Finisterre choose to do it in four days.  The other half, those who just want to get there, get it done, and then head south for some R&R in Portugal, choose to walk the last 89 km in just three days.  Guess which group Jen and I fall into.  The “few more miles” I just mentioned above turned out to be our longest day of the entire Camino, a whopping 38.5 km.  It hurt, and by the end of the day my dogs were barking.  After what would be our last pilgrim meal we turned in early, planning to get up before the dawn to start the last 30 km leg to the end of the Earth.

“We will see the sea today,” I told Jenny as we put on our packs and laced up our shoes.  Neither of us had seen the ocean since leaving San Sebastian 36 days prior.  For me, that was the longest I had ever been away from the sea.  Jen’s from Nebraska so she spent most of her life as far from the ocean as you could probably get, but for me this was a big deal.  In Roman times it was believed that Finisterre was the actual end of the known world.  The pilgrim tradition is to head out to the lighthouse at the end of the peninsula and watch the sunset over the horizon.  This sounds amazing, in theory, but we had no such luck.  After almost two weeks of amazing sunshine and blue skies, we awoke on our last day to find it overcast and foggy.  “Perhaps it will clear by the time we reach Finisterre,” we said to ourselves.

Nope, after 30 km of hard charging down steep trails, over hills, and next to a wildfire (no joke) we finally made it to Fisterra, the seaside town 3 km from the lighthouse.  We checked into our hostel, dropped our bags, showered, and took a nice little siesta.  The clouds had not parted all day and by the time we awoke to start heading out to see the sunset, it was raining.  Bummer.  Fortunately, there’s very little that a bottle of wine, some jamón and cheese, and a bar of chocolate cannot fix.

For a short time we debated whether or not it was cheating to leave our backpacks in the room for what would be the last 3 km of our pilgrimage, but logic and sore legs prevailed.  I had done extensive research on the Camino and didn’t recall anywhere that carrying your backpack for the entire journey was a requirement.  Besides, even if it was there were no Pilgrim Police out there issuing citations, certainly not out in the wind and rain.  So, unbound and unburdened, carrying only our picnic items and rain coats which we had pulled out from the bottom of the packs where they had lived for the past week, we set off to find where the sidewalk really ends.

Fog and rain have their own beauty, and we looked hard to find it.  People in cars passed us, honking their horns as if to say either, “way to go, you guys are true pilgrims,” or “you two are nuts, there’s no sunset tonight.”  We chose the former and smiled as we limped up the hill, hoods pulled tight against the salty breeze.

Then it was there, the lighthouse.  Three kilometers seemed daunting when we first woke up from siesta, but we must have flown right over it because in no time at all we had reached it, the end.  Close to the lighthouse is kilometer 0,000 where we stopped for a picture.  Then we continued past the end of the sidewalk and onto the rocks where we set up our picnic.  The rain had reduced to a light drizzle by then but the clouds still clung together.  So we sat there in relative silence drinking our wine and looking at the horizon.  In our minds we imagined the sun behind the clouds slowly sinking out of the sky and dipping into the ocean.  And that was the end.

We had walked almost 900 kilometers across the entire country of Spain.  Through sunshine and rain, snow, sleet, and hail we traveled by foot for 36 days, carrying everything on our backs and taking only two days off to rest.  We met some amazing people who were sharing this experience with us, our Camino family, and were welcomed by the people of Spain with open arms and loving hearts.  What would we do now?  With no shell symbols or yellow arrows to point the way, where would we go and how would we get there?

Like many pilgrims with extra time after finishing their Camino, we were headed for Portugal.  But that’s a story for another time.  Until then…

Buen Camino!

It is good to have an end to journey towards; but it is the journey that matters, in the end. – Ernest Hemingway

Tomorrow is the big day… Santiago de Compostela.  We have caught up with some friends who didn’t take a rest day in Leon (i.e. several long days, including one 37 km day) and have been celebrating with them the past few nights.  Tonight we will probably call it an early night and get up before we normally would.  We are less than 20 km away from Santiago so it will only take us a few hours to get there.  The goal is to beat the masses of people and arrive in time to get our Compostelas, then attend the noon pilgrim’s mass at the cathedral.

When I say “masses of people,” I am being completely literal.  Since passing through Sarria the Camino has become swollen with throngs of people, mostly from Spain, but from other places as well.  It has completely changed the dynamic of the Camino, giving it a more “Disney Land” like feel.  The price of beer and food has gone up (though this is Spain so it’s still dirt cheap) and so has the number of times you must say “Buen Camino,” every day.  There is the Camino before Sarria (B.S.) and there is the Camino now.

Technically, to receive your Compostela at the cathedral in Santiago you must have walked at least 100 km.  This is the absolute minimum requirement to be able to call yourself a “pilgrim” on the Way of St. James.  And, let’s face it, most people only really have time to get away from work for a week which is enough time to walk 100 km.  This is why the Camino changes, virtially overnight, in Sarria.  Shortly after Sarria is the 100 km marker (see below pic).  Isn’t it beautiful?  That was sarcasm, by the way.

I will be honest, it has become very difficult to stay positive.  Our friends who have been walking with us for these many weeks have also found it a struggle.  Not to get too biblical here, but it’s a lot like when Jesus was on the cross and, after asking him for forgiveness, Jesus told the thief on the cross next to him that, “he too shall be with him in heaven.”  The apostles, of course, found this hard to swallow.  They had followed Jesus around for all this time, given up their day-to-day lives and families, and now this convicted felon who’s known Jesus for all of, what? ten minutes, gets to go to heaven with him.

When you’ve walked over 700 km to get somewhere, crossed countless obstacles along the way (blisters, cold showers, endless nights of snoring) and bonded with some amazing people too, it’s easy to look at those who just started their Camino in Sarria and think less of them.  We are Peregrinos, true pilgrims on the Way of St. James.  They are Tourigrinos, tourists who just seem to get in the way.

In a previous post about the Meseta I mentioned that someone had told me, “Navarra is for the body, the Meseta is for the mind, and Galecia is for the heart.”  Well, I’m not sure how true that statement is anymore.  Galecia is proving to be more of a mental challenge than the Meseta ever was.  Yes, the Meseta was long and monotonous, but it was still beautiful.  We also had each other, our fellow pilgrims whom we had learned to lean on for love and support.  Now our happy band of merry pilgrims was spread across Galecia, planning to arrive into Santiago on various dates.  Jen and I had several days after descending from O Cebreiro where we rarely saw a familiar face.

Now, with the multitude of people converging onto the Camino in Sarria, it was even more important to us that we find our support group once more.  Literally hundreds of people stood in our path.  How would we be able to find them in this maddening crowd?  It used to be that when you strolled into a small Spanish village you could easily find your friends at the second bar (remember, second bar is the coolest).  With every bar overrun with Tourigrinos you had no desire to stop anymore.  You avoided them like you would a swarm of bees around a hive.  But then, like a mirage in the desert, you see it… that familiar face of someone you know.  A fellow pilgrim.

Just like before we were all somehow drawn to each other; first one, then two, four, eight, etc.  The magnet that had brought us all together in the past was still working and we found our peace once again.  Of course, we all shared our shock, amazement, and disappointment at how quickly and drastically our Camino had changed.  One day it was just us on the trail and now it seemed the whole world had descended upon us.  But we quickly moved on past our frustrations, sharing stories from the past week we had been apart, encouraging each other to focus on the positive and forget the current craziness, and, most of all, discussing our plans for Santiago.

That is why Jen and I decided to work so hard to make up the miles to be with our friends again.  It’s the same reason I no longer feel superior to our Tourigrino friends, I actually feel a bit sorry for them.  Yes, they are “pilgrims” who will have accomplished something most others in this world will not, but in only 100 km they will never have what we few, we happy few who have walked 800 km together, have found together.  Through mud soaked valleys, over mountains, in rain and snow… we pilgrims have a bond.  Jen and I want to walk into Santiago with the friends that we have shared this bond with, and we will.

Tomorrow morning we will get up before the sun and walk the final 18 km into Santiago de Compostela surrounded by friends.  We will each receive our Compostelas, our certificates (written in Latin) proving that we have completed the way of St. James.  Then, all going well, we will attend the noon mass for pilgrims.  A massive dinner will be planned, I’m sure, and then that will be the end.  Some of us will walk on to Finisterre.  Others will head back home to real life.  Hopefully, that magic magnet will continue to pull us all back together somehow after all of this.  After all, we share a bond.

Buen Camino!

Okay, where to start?  Right now I am drinking a beer in a bar across the street from a monastery in Samos.  According to the guide-book, we should reach Santiago on Friday, May 3rd.  But I lost the guide book yesterday so who knows what the hell is happening?  We’re flying’ blind here people, and loving every minute of it!

Today was the first day we were actually hot.  It didn’t snow, it didn’t rain, the sun was out and the zip-off legs of my pants were off before noon.  It was a good day… and a sharp contrast to just a few days ago when we were bundled up in the snow at Cruz Ferro.  Here are a few pics from that epic journey over the mountains to give you an idea.  Don’t let the pics fool you, it was fantastically beautiful and we loved every minute of it.

Spring is definitely here now.  After walking up and down several more mountains on muddy trails covered in horse poop, we are now down at a lower elevation and enjoying the sunshine.  All going well, we should continue to have this weather all the way to Santiago.

So, what about feet, you ask?  Well, Jen and I have remarked several times during this journey that we are extremely grateful that our feet have held out and not had any issues.  Many of our fellow pilgrims have suffered blisters, some seriously, to the point that they have thrown away their shoes and switched to sandals.  Jen even let one lady borrow here Chacos for a few days because she was on the verge of calling it quits.  Fortunately, the Chacos did the trick and, after buying her own pair of sandals, she was able to continue on.  We haven’t seen her since before Leon, though, so I’m not sure how the sandals did going over the mountains in snow.

The point is, neither Jen or I have had any serious problems with our shoes or our feet and we are extremely grateful.  Every story we hear about pilgrim foot problems adds to that gratefulness.  The pictures we’ve seen, and we’ve seen some gruesome pics, make us want to bend over and kiss our feet, if only we could bend that far.  Lt. Dan told Forest Gump to take good care of his feet and, gosh darn it, we’ve done a good job so far.

Okay, my battery is about to die and Jen is needing some food so I’m signing off for now.

Buen Camino!

We are in the mountains again.  The Meseta is now behind us and so is the relative warmth it provided.  This morning it was snowing as we left Astorga, not enough to stick, but it was still fun.  The past two days have been the coldest since we started the Camino.  Not so much because of the temperature, but because of the wind and rain/hail/snow.  It also hasn’t helped that I’ve been fighting off a cold since we left León two days ago.

Today, however, the tide has turned, so to speak.  From Astorga we have gradually climbed up into the mountains and are now at the precipice of the highest point along the Camino, Cruz Ferro, which we will reach tomorrow morning.  For this evening we find ourselves in the tiny village of Foncebadon at an albergue with a fantastic wood fireplace.  Though it was still cold today, the climb to altitude changes your perspective.  As we approached the snow line it began to feel more like an expedition in the Alps.  And it certainly helps that our little village this evening looks like something straight out of the Sound of Music.

It is snowing now as I write and is supposed to snow all night so, when we wake up, it should be a nice winter wonderland outside… in April.  We were thinking about getting up early to head up to Cruz Ferro before sunrise but the host of our albergue reminded us that, if it’s snowing, there will be no “sunrise.”  So, we will sleep in a little longer and then pile on the layers of clothes.  At Cruz Ferro we will finally lay down our stones that we have been carrying since we left Florida.  This is a Camino tradition and is supposed to symbolize leaving your burdens at the foot of the Cross.  Not sure if it works but it will definitely be nice to get rid of a little weight.  Also, it can’t hurt, right?

Here are some pics from our adventure these past couple of days since leaving León.  For those keeping track, yesterday morning is when we crossed the 500 km threshold.

Ultreia!

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It is Easter morning in León, Spain.  The bells at the cathedral are ringing, the sun is out, and it is another beautiful day.  This past week was Holy Week and, to Catholics, this is the big show.  It’s even bigger than Christmas.  Since our last update we have visited the towns of Terradillos de los Templarios, Bercianos del Real Camino, Mansilla de las Mulas, and now León.  Because it is Holy Week, we have been lucky enough to see a Procession ceremony in each of these towns.  For those who have not seen one, I won’t go into too much detail other than to say it is an interesting and beautiful custom.  Here’s the Wikipedia link if you want to learn more about Holy Week in Spain, specifically the region we are currently in, Castilla y León:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week_in_Spain#Holy_Week_in_Castile_and_León

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Beside the processions and other events of Holy Week there is quite a bit that has happened in just the few days since our last blog post.  We crossed the Meseta, survived two days of cold and rain, discovered that the 2nd bar in Moratinos really is the coolest (Socrates says so), and learned that even in a big city pilgrims will always find each other.  We also learned that splurging for a private room (and bathroom) is worth the extra 5€, even if the bouncers at the albergue are 86 year old nuns who only speak spanish.  Also, if you have the opportunity to dry your clothes in a machine you should take it because the heater in your room may go out at any moment.  The same goes for taking a shower as there is, apparently, such a thing as a rolling blackout for city water.  The list goes on and on.

Jen says that the days should be measured like dog days, where each one counts for seven days instead of just one.  There’s just so much that happens that your brain starts to get overloaded.  You start retelling a story about something that happened the other day only to realize it actually happened that morning; you forget the name of the town you just walked through and the one you are heading to; or, in my case anyway, you reach to pick up your beer with your left hand, accuse your wife of drinking it because it isn’t where you think you left it, and then hang your head in shame when she points out that your beer is actually in your right hand.  This is what we have come to call Camino-nesia.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to some amazing friends from France.  Each year for Holy Week they walk a portion of the Camino, singing as they walk and making new friends along the way.  This year, at the end of their journey, when they set off for the train station in León to go back home they had collected a group of almost twenty pilgrim friends to see them off.  As they departed they sang the familiar French call and response song that all of us have come to love.  Jen and I first heard it the morning after my last post when we walked with them for part of the way to Terradillos de los Templarios.  We were both blown away because the song is about what I had just written, the title of it being Ultreia.

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This was our first true experience with saying goodbye on the Camino and, now that we are over half way to Santiago, for many of us it brought to light that our journey is on the downhill slide.  This week “hump day” was on a Thursday, not Wednesday.  That’s because we walked through the town of Sahagún, which is exactly (give or take a few kilometers and depending on which guide-book you read) halfway between St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and Santiago de Compostela.

With the our goal now closer than ever, the realization that many more goodbyes will happen in Santiago could easily depress an already road weary pilgrim.  Thank goodness Leon is full of good food and excellent wine to boost our spirits once more.  Also, Santiago is still twelve to thirteen days from now.  If we count the days the way that Jen says we should, that’s 84 to 91 dog days.  Also, let’s not forget that many of us will continue on from Santiago to Finisterre and Muxía.  One could live a lifetime on the Camino de Santiago.

Buen Camino!

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May your path be the sound of your feet upon the ground.  Carry on. – by Fun (Ruess, Dost, Antonoff, Bhasker)

Today we are in Carrión de los Condes, which is funny because Jen has had this song “Carry on” by the group Fun, stuck in her head for several days.  In Germany, I learned, they call this an ear worm.  It’s a fantastic song with a refrain that is extremely uplifting.  When your feet and/or legs are aching more than usual, simply singing, “Carry-oooooooon,” can change your mood.

We are on the Meseta now.  The rocky mountains and hills of Navarra and Rioja have given way to rolling farmland and long, straight paths with little change in the scenery.  Our Nebraska friends and family know exactly what it looks like.  It looks like Nebraska.  I’ve heard from Camino veterans that Navarra and Rioja are for your body, the Meseta is for your mind, and Galecia is for your heart.  What a true statement.

In Navarra and Rioja the continually changing scenery of the past two weeks has been a welcome distraction to the aches and pains we all have felt.  But now, being close to half way to Santiago de Compostela, our bodies have given up complaining, our blisters have popped and mostly healed or we have gotten used to the constant pain.  We are Pilgrims, callused and accustomed to the lifestyle, but do we have our minds in the right place?

Already, I have heard some pilgrims complain about the Meseta and its “boring” landscape.  The endless fields of wheat, the straight gravel paths alongside the Spanish highway, the longer distances between towns, and the scorching sun; these are just a few of the things that will nag at a pilgrim as they trudge on, poco a poco, one step at a time, toward Santiago.  And then there’s that sound.  Anyone who has done the Camino knows it, that whooshing, crunching sound of every step on the gravel path that can drive you mad if you don’t have your mind right.

The modern greeting on the Camino de Santiago is, “Buen Camino.”  We say it to each other as we set out in the morning or as we pass other pilgrims on the trail.  Strangers in villages whom we’ve never met will say it and smile as we pass by.  It literally translates to, “Good Way,” the way being the Way of St. James.  However, in medieval times the greeting was different… and in Latin.  At that time, the greeting to a pilgrim on the Way was ultreia which translates to “further onward.”  The response being et suseia, “and further upward.”

The funny thing is, this is similar to a saying I’ve used often which I picked up from a mentor of mine many years ago, “onwards and upwards, never sideways.”  Through the years that I have used this phrase I never really acknowledged how it relates to both the physical and mental aspects of life.  Specifically, on the Camino, this definitely holds true.

Tomorrow will be our first true test, 17 kilometers (10.6 mi) between Carrion and Calzadilla with nothing but wide open farmland in between.  No doubt, I will be thinking about this phrase, ultreia et suseia, tomorrow and over the next few days as we cross the Meseta.  Further onward: just keep putting one step in front of the other.  Further upward: keep your head up and focus on the world around you and your wife beside you.  Focus on your fellow pilgrims, and help to lift them up as well, and when the path before you is only the sound of your feet on the ground, carry on.

Next week, all going well, we will be entering Galecia, our bodies will be even stronger than they are now.  We will have found the mental stamina needed to survive the Meseta, and we will then turn to opening our hearts for our arrival into Santiago.  I’m also told we will need to open our stomachs because the food in Galecia is… wait for it… legendary!

Ultreia!

P.S. – We are staying the night in a monastery, Monestario de Santa Clara, which is a great experience but there is no Wifi (or heat, apparently).  So, just keep in mind that this post is probably coming in a day later than when I actually wrote it.