I just heard this one this afternoon from our Bavarian friend, Ulli: “A pilgrim walks by a bar…”  Get it?  It’s funny because that would never happen.  Seriously, the Camino de Santiago is like one giant pub crawl.  In the morning we walk from one bar/cafe to the next, searching for café con leche and second breakfast, then mid-day cervesas at the next little Spanish village.  At the end of the day we usually have another cervesa right after dropping our bags at the albergue.  In fact, I’m drinking a beer right now.  Stories are not just shared on the road, many are shared over food, beer, and/or wine at the end of the day when our bodies are tired but our wits are still keen.  Sometimes, this is when the best stories are actually made.

Take, for example, this next installment of The Camino Stories, for which we can also thank Ulli (sorry Ulli, I’m using your real name for this one, though I don’t think you’ll mind as you are the hero in this story).  This story takes place on only day three of our Camino.  It is about taking chances and trusting in people whom you’ve just met, even in the face of mortal danger.

The afternoon had turned cold and the skies were threatening rain.  Our intrepid group of five pilgrims set out from the albergue for the local bus stop in Cizor Menor.  The plan, head back to Pamplona, which we had walked through a few hours earlier, and explore the city.

The bus ride back to the city center, which had taken us hours to walk from, took less than 30 minutes.  When we got off the bus the temperature had dropped even more.  Some of us, in an attempt to allow our feet and toes a little freedom, had left our muddy shoes at the albergue and were wearing only sandals.  We found a cafe immediately and warmed ourselves for the journey ahead.  From the cafe we trudged on toward the cathedral.  Though the wind whipped through our clothes and the rain had started to freeze, we carried on.

In the cathedral, out of the wind and rain, we found solace.  It was there that Ulli, a Hemingway fan who insisted on staying the night in Pamplona, joined our group.  We were now six pilgrims let loose upon a city that was, unfortunately, in the midst of siesta.  After our little tour, we stepped out of the cathedral into the plaza where we all wondered out loud what to do next.  The rain had let up but it was still cold so the prospect of wandering around the sleepy, narrow streets in search of entertainment did not sound appealing.  We needed a plan, a goal of some kind, in order to drive our feet forward over the cold cobbled streets.

“I have an idea,” says Ulli, a wonderful man from Bavaria whom Jen and I had only met that day while walking from Larrasoaña.  Happy for any suggestion, our group stopped to hear what Ulli had in mind.  “It will only take five or ten minutes,” he says in his accented english, “and one or two of us might die.”

Personally, I looked around and calculated the odds.  Others did the same and together we replied in unison, “Okay.”  I mean, why not.  The alternative was to stand around contemplating what else to do while we all froze to death.  Why not follow the suggestion of a man in thick black-rimmed glasses, a Stetson baseball cap, and skin-tight leather lederhosen?

With Ulli in the lead, our merry band of six pilgrims (which could soon possibly only number four or five) marched through the gates of the cathedral plaza and into the ancient streets of Pamplona.  The gothic buildings along the narrow streets took on an ominous feeling as we shrugged off the cold and soldiered forward.  I must admit, for a brief second I considered that this scenario was similar to the plot of many horror movies and, had I been watching this in the third person, I would have yelled at the screen, “don’t go!”  My curiosity, however, was overpowering.  In the few hours since we had left Ulli in Pamplona and then returned by bus, what could he have discovered that was so interesting?  The others, I’m sure, were thinking similarly.  It was not long before we would find out.

Only a few short blocks from the cathedral Ulli stopped and pointed out to us that the street we were standing in was one of the streets where the annual “running of the bulls” took place.  “Interesting,” we all thought but was that it?  Had Ulli brought us here just to point out this small bit of tourist information?  And then, his plan became clear.  Not only were we standing on a street where the doomed bulls are set free to trample and gorge crazy Spaniards and tourists, we were standing directly in front of one of the most touristy tourist shops in Pamplona.

Anything having to do with the running of the bulls could be found in this shop.  T-shirts, buttons, beer mugs, novelty hats, etc., etc.  This was like the Disney Store for Pamplona’s most famous event.  But, trinkets and toys were not why Ulli had brought us here.  No, he intended for us to actually run with the bulls.

Okay, not actually.  Obviously, the picture is staged but how cool is that?  In the back of the store they had plastered the walls with street scenes and placed six real, yet very dead and stuffed bulls.  For only 2€ per person they would provide you with the traditional costume and take your picture in various imposing positions.  This was, by far, the most cheesy thing we had seen since beginning our spiritual journey on the Camino and, naturally, all of us enthusiastically loved the idea.

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In no time at all we were in costume and posing for the camera.  At the end of it all, enlivened and invigorated, the cold air was barely noticeable as we walked out of the shop.  Whatever would happen later that night, nothing would top this experience and we had the pictures to prove it.  Best of all (depending on your point of view, that is) no one had to die.  This was an epic experience.  One that only six of us currently walking the Camino de Santiago took part in and can give a first-hand account of.  All thanks to a really cool guy named Ulli who didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.

So, thanks Ulli.  You have helped reaffirm my faith in humanity.  Despite what you see in the news or what the fear mongers on Facebook want to you to believe, there are times when you need to trust people, even those you’ve just met, in order to have the time of your life.

Buen camino everyone!

 

 

In case you were wondering, the rain in Spain also falls in Navarra and Rioja.  We know first-hand.  It has rained, on average, every other day since we set out from Saint Jean-Pied-de-Port eleven days ago.  It’s not consistent, all-day rain, just passing light rain and showers.  Luck has been on our side, however, as we have mostly missed the larger downpours, strolling into town and checking into the albergue just before the skies open up.  Our fellow pilgrims with a slightly slower pace have not been so lucky.

Walking in cold and wet makes for a completely different experience for some.  A hot shower and a glass of Rioja brings everyone back to life and it isn’t long before everyone is rejuvenated and sharing stories from the day’s travels.  Speaking of hot showers and albergues, some of you have asked for more details about the places we stay every night.  They vary from town to town, and most villages and cities have several options to choose from.  Here’s a brief breakdown of what we have experienced so far.

First off, an albergue is typically not much more than a youth hostel.  The only difference is that albergues cater only to pilgrims on the Camino.  You cannot stay at an albergue without providing your pilgrim passport.  They also range in price based on different amenities that they provide (kitchens, meals, washing machines but usually no dryers, WiFi, etc.).  What every albergue has in common is that they are run by people or groups who are committed to providing a positive experience for pilgrims on the Camino.  Whether municipal albergues funded by local governments and or churches, or private albergues owned and run by dedicated Spaniards, all are focused more on what they give to pilgrims and not on profits.  Profits are slim when you are only charging 10€ (on average) per person, per night.

For those wanting the true “Camino experience,” the municipal albergues are the simplest and least expensive option.  Some are even “donotivo,” which means they only accept donations (though this is not an invitation to stay for free if you have the means, you cheap-skate).  Some municipals are better than others, most having large rooms full of bunk-beds and shared bathrooms, though the village we stayed in last night offered nothing more than a mat on the ground.  At least, that’s what we were told.  Last night, in Grañon, we stayed at a private albergue run by a young Spanish family who had met each other while walking the Camino.  Their two-month-old son was there with them as everyone checked in.  How cute is that?

At the private albergue we shared a small room with a nice Australian couple, David and Jane, who we had met earlier that day on the trail.  There were four bunk beds and just enough room to unpack your bag.  This albergue was small with a limited number of beds, I’d say no more than twenty, and only one bathroom/shower to share.  There was a kitchen there and our original plan was to buy some stuff at the “supermercado” but that did not open after siesta time for some reason.  No worries.  We wound up at the local bar, “My Way,” with a bunch of other pilgrim family members where we ate, drank, and partied into the night.  I may have even picked up the guitar they had lying around and started playing for everyone… but I digress.

Albergue living is what Jen and I have been doing the most so far on the Camino.  We’ve stayed in municipals and private ones, all with their ups and downs, their own charms and character.  For example, the municipal albergue in Estella had a kitchen where Jen cooked while I worked on the blog (I think I mentioned that in a previous post already).

The pilgrims who stayed at the municipal last night in Grañon told us about the floor mats they slept on but they weren’t complaining.  Instead, they moved right on to telling us about the communal meal that was prepared by the locals and visiting Italian pilgrims, to which they genuinely described as “gourmet.”  And, of course, the wine flowed freely at this meal.  Jen and I both were a bit jealous that we missed that experience, for which we would have happily slept on the floor had we only known.

 

Look, albergue living is not for everyone.  Just tonight at dinner I overheard someone talking about how they have only stayed in hotels with their own room so far.  That doesn’t make them any less of a pilgrim.  They still walked over 25 km from wherever they started this morning to get here.  The blisters on their feet don’t hurt any less than everyone elses.  Even Jen and I splurged a bit in Logroño.  The albergue we checked into, the creatively named Albergue Logroño, had a private room available for 30€ a night.  It wasn’t the Ritz but, holy crap, we had a double bed with sheets, our own tiny bathroom, fresh towels, and a TV.  Considering some people were paying 10€ per person to stay at the municipal albergue there, it was totally worth it.  We stayed two nights.

My point is that there is something to be said for shared misery.  Call it communal living, pilgrim life, or whatever you want.  Living in an albergue, smelling other people’s sweaty clothes, showering in a place where hot water is not guaranteed and you absolutely need to wear some kind of sandal, and then lying awake at night thinking how unfair it is that the people snoring are the only ones actually sleeping… this is not the most pleasant experience but we all go through it.  It’s such a break from the norm that we can’t help but talk about it.  It gives us stories to tell on the road the next day.  Like the woman who one morning, for the first time since starting her Camino, was so happy to have had a good night’s sleep, free from snoring, that she told everyone in the room, “that it was a pleasure to have slept with all of you,”… classic.  I mean, this blog practically writes itself sometimes.

Anyway, I hope those of you who were wondering about our accommodations have a slightly better idea of what we see everyday.  Every new town is a slightly different experience though, so who knows what’s to come.  What we’ve experience so far may be nothing like what’s to come.. but it probably will be.  Either way, if anything crazy happens in an albergue while we are on the Camino, you can bet that I’ll write about it here.

Buen Camino!

Exactly one week ago we began our pilgrimage, setting out from Saint Jean-Pied-de-Port with a large group of strangers, all with a common goal.  Yesterday we arrived in Logroño after walking 27.6 km (17.1 mi) from Los Arcos.  Along the way we passed, or were passed by, many of the people who started this journey with us a week earlier.  A few hundred pilgrims, once strangers grouped together on a narrow pass over the Pyrenees, are now spread across Rioja and, best of all, we are no longer strangers.  We know the names of those we pass.  Those who pass us and we see later at a cafe enjoying second breakfast are now friends.  This truly is a fantastic experience.

Having walked a total of over 163 km (101.3 mi) thus far, we decided to take a rest day today.  It helps that we found an albergue which, for a little extra, has private rooms with their own bathrooms.  Yes, the room is the size of a large walk-in closet but, holy crap, we can shower when we want and don’t have to wear sandals.  Anyway, we are enjoying our “luxury” accommodations for one more night before heading off on the trail tomorrow.  It’s 29.6 km (18.4 mi) from Logroño to Nájera and back to true albergue living.

Now it’s off to find one of our friends (who also enjoyed a rest day in Logroño) at the Plaza del Mercado for another night of story telling.

Buen Camino!

Sharing on the Camino de Santiago is something every pilgrim does.  Whether it is food, aspirin, adult beverages at the end of the day, etc., we are all on the same journey and the spirit of giving is inherent in our desire to see everyone succeed.  My favorite type of sharing, however, is in stories.  Where we came from, why we are walking the Camino, these are the most common stories.  Every once in a while, though, a story is made on the Camino that is worth sharing with the rest of the world so I decided to create a separate space on the blog to do just that.  So, without further ado, I give you the first of The Camino Stories.  Please note that names, other than Jen and myself, have been changed to protect the innocent (and not so innocent).

The evening was closing in on the little town of Larrasoaña as the pilgrims settled in for some much-needed sleep.  As I laid in my bunk I listened as the quiet set in.  Bags were no longer being opened or closed, sleeping bags were no longer rustling.  A stillness was falling in on the cozy albergue we all called home that night.

Then, without warning, a cacophony of laughter erupted from the room next to ours.  Like school girls at a slumber party the laughter gave way to what seemed like endless giggles as my roommates and I pondered what could have happened to cause such a ruckus.  Too tired to investigate, we waited as the giggles subsided and the stillness finally returned.

The next morning, after achingly climbing down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen in search of coffee for Jen, I overheard two pilgrims conversing about some mistake the night before.  “I’m so sorry about last night,” says the woman (let’s call her Jan).  In broken english the man replies, “Is okay, no problem.”  I think little of the exchange and continue my task, still weary from a night where sleep was elusive.

The hustle and bustle of morning life in an albergue on the Camino de Santiago stands in sharp contrast to the evening before.  The once quiet rooms are alive with activity as pilgrims stumble over each other, apologizing in many languages, all trying to fill their backpacks with the things in their life that they had deemed important enough to carry with them for 800 kilometers across northern Spain.  The bathrooms become crowded and the kitchen is a madhouse.  The quiet rustling of synthetic fabrics from the early risers trying not to wake their comrades gives way to joyful conversation as the caffeine hits our systems and we realize all are now awake (whether they want to be or not).

It was at this time that Jen, never one to be shy, decided to ask our neighbors in the room next door what had caused them to laugh so hysterically the night before.  The four pilgrims occupying the room were a mix of family and friends; Bill, his wife, a friend, and their daughter Jan.  Bill began to tell Jen what happened but stopped, instead waiting for his daughter to return from the bathroom so she could share it herself, since she was the main protagonist.  What follows is Jan’s version of the evenings misdeeds and it has since become somewhat of a legend after a week of retelling on the Camino.

It seems Jan had fallen slightly behind the others on the walk from Roncesvalles.  Her pace the second day, after crossing over the Pyrenees the day before, was a bit slower than the rest of her group so she told them to go on ahead and she would meet them at the albergue.  Just before sitting down to our “Pilgrim’s meal” that night, Jan arrived.  After the meal, as the rest of us all prepared for bed, Jan was still up trying to finish her laundry, which is something the rest of us had completed earlier in the afternoon.

As everyone snuggled cozily into their sleeping bags and let the exhaustion finally catch up to our eyes, Jan quietly slipped out of her bunk, achingly crept down the two flights of stairs to the laundry, pulled her warm clothes out of the dryer, and wearily headed back upstairs.  When she returned to the room the lights were out and her bunk-mates were fast asleep.  Not wanting to wake them, she stealthily crept over to her bottom bunk and positioned herself to slide in.  In order to get into her bunk without hitting her head or making any noise she deduced that she should turn herself around and back in, buttocks first, at the end of the bunk where her pillow was.

Proud of herself for, thus far, not waking anyone else in her room, Jan assumed the position and lowered herself down into her bunk.  “Mmmrrrfff!!!” was the sound that came from her pillow, though it did not feel like a pillow.  There was a man in her bunk!  Then, the realization suddenly dawned on her.  In her exhausted, trail-weary state, Jan had come back up from the laundry and gone to the second floor instead of the third.  This was not her room.  This was not her bunk.  This man-pillow she had just sat on was a poor pilgrim who, only moments before, had been sleeping peacefully.

In a split second Jan was back on her feet and profusely apologizing to the stranger who’s face she had just smothered with her backside.  Filled with embarrassment, she stood up immediately and began to flee.  Quickly and quietly, her wits now returned to her, she escaped from the room she thought was hers and hurried up the stairs.

Once in her proper room, Jan made her second and final mistake of the evening… she shared what had just happened with her roommates.  Que the ferocious and contagious laughter that left the entire room giggling for at least a half hour and the pilgrims in the room next door wondering what could ever be that funny.

And now, with Jan retelling her tale to Jen that following morning, she forever holds a place in Camino legend.  When sharing with other pilgrims on the trail we inevitably come to the game of “who do you know,” where we ask each other, “have you met so-and-so from (insert country here)?”  During this game, whenever Jan, Bill, or the rest of that group is mentioned, Jan’s story is always brought up.

So, Jan (you know who you are), thank you for sharing what was a most embarrassing moment for you.  You have given us more than a story, you have given us a way to laugh and bond with other pilgrims.  Our feet may have blisters and our knees may be sore, but laughter truly is the best medicine.  Buen Camino to you and your family.  We’ll see you on down the trail shortly.

Well, it has not been my intention to go so long without writing something here.  Mainly because I knew that the more time passed, the more there would be to write about, and I was not wrong.  So many wonderful and amazing things have happened in such a short time on this journey.  There is so much to share, the places we’ve seen, the people sharing this experience with us, and the mental and physical aspects of walking the Camino.

This evening we find ourselves at the municipal albergue in Estella.  It is Friday, five days from when we started on Monday, April 1st.  I mention the day of the week more as a reminder to myself as it has become more and more difficult to keep track of what day it actually is.  Starting on the 1st has made it slightly easier to keep track (i.e., it is April 5th today so we have been walking for five days).

Jen and I spend a considerable amount of time each day recounting our experiences, more adventures really, from the days before.  Like an old retired couple out for a walk in the morning we say things to each other like, “remember when Ulli said this,” or “wasn’t it funny yesterday when this happened to Henrique?”  To which the other person will say, “that wasn’t yesterday, that was the day before.”  “It was?” comes the response.  “Yeah, remember?  That happened when we were at Albergue San Nicolas.”  “Oh, yeah, you’re right.  Now I remember.”  And so it goes.

At this moment, one of those experiences is happening right now.  I am sitting at a large table in a communal kitchen at the albergue while people from at least seven different countries cook meals for each other: Italy (who are singing Italian songs), France, Germany, Korea, England, Canada, and us Americans.  There’s spaghetti, sushi, salad, fried eggs and pasta, and, of course, wine.  We’ve all gone shopping separately to cook for ourselves but we share the kitchen, the giant table, the wine, and though we don’t all speak the same language, we share the stories from our time on the Camino so far (the wine helps with this part).

Only five days ago, we were sharing a meal with fellow pilgrims in Roncesvalles.  Everyone, though exhausted, was in good spirits and celebrating crossing over the Pyrenees.  From St. Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles was 24.7 km of brutal climbing over the pass at 1429 meters.  It was overcast and raining in the morning.

The steep switch back before reaching Orrison, only 7.7 km from St. Jean, had young and old questioning their life choices.  But a hot cup of coffee at the cozy café and some bread with jamón and cheese rejuvenated us for the rest of the climb.  After Orrison the rain abated but the temperature dropped as the altitude increased.  Above the clouds moving through the valleys, we marveled at how high we had climbed in such little time.  Soon, sooner than we thought, we were crossing into Spain, walking through snow and thick piles of leaves, pushing on to the last uphill climb before our steep decent into Roncesvalles.

We left St. Jean at 0730, stopped in Orrison for café and just before Croix Thibaut for a picnic on the side of the trail, and descended into Roncesvalles by 1500.  There were a good number of pilgrims ahead of us in line when the albergue opened and many, many more that trickled in as the afternoon wore on.  At 1900 we all converged on the local restaurant serving the “pilgrim menu” to replenish the carbs we burned over the pass.  Though we all started about the same, and finished within hours of each other, the stories we told varied wildly.  So we shared, and we toasted, and we ate, and we toasted, and when the wine ran out we asked for another bottle, and continued sharing and toasting as before.  We had completed, arguably, the hardest part of the Camino and, though we were exhausted and in physical pain, we were proud, verbally patting each other on the back because we were too sore to actually physically pat each other on the back.

And now it is day five.  Roncesvalles seems like ages ago.  Since then we have walked to and stayed the night in the small village of Larrasoaña, Cizur Menor outside of Pamplona, the city of Puerto la Reina, and now Estella.  We have kept pace with some pilgrims whom we see every night at the albergue.  Others we have left behind only to find them on the trail days later, greeting them like lifelong friends returned from the sea.  The days have been spent telling stories of home, work, your “real” life.  You share our physical pains, mostly foot pain of some kind, but also some mental pain, which is why we walk the Camino in the first place.  We are strangers in a strange and marvelous land.  We are pilgrims.  We are familia.

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This is only day five.  All going well, we have thirty more days with our new family.  What will this be like then?

Buen Camino!

P.S. – Sorry, no pictures on this post yet.  The free WiFi at this albergue does not like the file sizes I’m trying to upload.  I’ll try to update later with pictures.

P.P.S – Day 6 and the WiFi at Los Arcos is much better so I’ve updated this post with pictures.  Enjoy!

I promised a post on San Sebastián so here it is.  It’s not that I don’t want to write about our four days there, it’s that there is four days worth of stuff to write about.  Sometimes I can’t believe the amount of walking and exploring we do and still have time for siesta everyday (except for the day we met Geert, but you know that from reading the previous post).  There’s no way I could fit everything we saw or did in San Sebastián into this post, I just don’t have the energy, have to save some for the Camino, which we start tomorrow morning (grits teeth in nervous anticipation).  Anyway, here are the highlights minus our experience with Geert, which you have already read about… right?  If not, go read that first and come back to this post.

First off, the weather.  Each day we woke up to a completely clear blue sky and a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean.  Every day was warmer than the next, causing you to shed layers in the sun and put them back on when walking the narrow streets in the shade.  By the third day, however, t-shirts and jeans were sufficient everywhere and on day four, both Jen and I were in shorts and sandals.  Spring had definitely arrived.

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The next highlight, the city itself.  Donostia – San Sebastián is absolutely stunning.  Also, some of you may be wondering why I interchange Donostia and San Sebastián.  We are in Basque country, a region of Spain and France that dates back before Roman times.  Needless to say, they are proud of their heritage and their language, Euskara.  So, every city has two names, the Basque name (Donostia) and the Spanish name (San Sebastián).  You will also find street signs, menus, and pretty much anything for the public eye printed in both languages.  But I digress once again…  San Sebastián is absolutely stunning.  Everywhere you look is a photo opportunity, whether it’s the architecture, the beaches, or one of the many hill-top views.  The public parks, both large and small, are tended and planted with fresh flowers.  The streets and beaches are clean and you will not find one piece of garbage on them.  The water, both the river and ocean, is crystal clear.  And, like Blibao, the locals are out enjoying the city every day; jogging, surfing, taking a stroll with friends, or joining them for an adult beverage at their favorite cafe/bar.

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Speaking of cafes and bars… the food, oh the food.  Everything we read about this city mentioned how great the food is.  I’ll admit, we were not impressed at first.  Pintxos, pintxos, pintxos, that’s all the tour guides talk about.  Don’t get me wrong, the pintxos (which is just the Basque word for tapas and pronounced “pinchos”) are nice and everyone should try going to a few pintxos bars, but it’s just fancy bar food.  The experience is what you go for.  The ability to point at what you want or just put it on your plate, have a drink, then hop over to the next bar for another round.  It’s fun, but in a city that has the second highest number of Michelin Star restaurants in the world, pintxos are not what we salivate for.  For the first couple of days, we thought the only way we would get to enjoy this good food we’d heard so much about would be to suck it up and splurge on a high-end meal.  Fortunately, we struck gold before needing to dive into our bank account.  Que the food porn:

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Elostra – hands down the best sushi we have had… possibly ever.  Yes, a bit more pricey than your go-to sushi place at home, but it is oh-so worth it.  We stumbled on Elostra by accident and, after seeing the prices on the menu, thought we’d start with two rolls just to try it out.  Um yeah, another roll, some nagiri, a bottle of cava, and a dessert was our reaction to those first two rolls.  Our next find was a vegetarian restaurant called MapaVerde.  Yes, yes, vegetarian in the land of jamón is sacrilege, you say, but you will change your mind when you try this place.  We sat outside and watched as people crowded around the limited seating like vultures.  They would even sit and order a beer from the cafe next door so they could keep an eye on who was paying their bill next.  Before a person leaving had even put on their coat or grabbed their purse, their recently vacated chair was pounced on.  Yes, it was that good… but this isn’t a food blog so let’s move on.

Yesterday we left San Sebastián, the land of Springtime, and headed for Saint Jean-Pied-de-Port (SJPP), the traditional starting point for the Frances route of the Camino de Santiago.  It was surprisingly simple to find our way there.  After taking the regional metro train to the French border, we hopped on the SNCF train to Bayonne.  There we transferred to the train going to SJPP.  It was easy to find, just follow all of the other Pilgrims with their lives stuffed into backpacks.  The whole process took a little over two and a half hours.  Once in SJPP we checked the weather and learned that “winter is coming.”

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The weather yesterday and today has been fantastic, and had we known yesterday what we know today, we’d probably be over the Pyrenees already.  Today would have been a great day to start.  However, the route we plan to take, the Napoleon route, does not officially open until April 1st.  That’s tomorrow.  And that… is when winter comes.  If the forecast is right, the rain moves in tonight and it will get a bit colder again.  The good news is that our backpacks will be a bit lighter.  The bad news is that they will be lighter due to the extra layers of clothes we will be wearing in the morning when we set off.  I wonder if I’ll get another chance to wear my shorts again on this trip.  Eh, whatever.

Buen Camino!

So, here we are in Donostia, a.k.a. San Sebastián, which I’ll talk more on later.  This morning, however, I would like to tell you about how our world has gotten just a little bit smaller.  The camino is calling us in more ways than one and, though I’m not a huge fan of “divine intervention,” it would be easy to assume some cosmic force is having a little fun with us on this trip.  At first I thought it was like when you buy a new car and suddenly it seems like everyone around is driving the same car too.  I’m sure their’s a name for the phenomenon but the point here is not to sound like a smarty pants.  The point is to tell you about meeting our new friend named Geert.

Day one in this beautiful coastal city saw us playing our exploration game once more.  Me, “where to next?”  Jen, “I don’t know, you decide.”  Me, “we go up.”  The stairs were steep and the cool air suddenly felt warm.  Little did we know about the magic that awaited us at the top.  An open doorway through the old castillo wall lead up another staircase and onto what would become our new favorite place in Donostia.  A quiet overlook on top of the wall that overlooked the entire bay, some plastic tables and chairs, and, best of all, there was a bar.  This was it, we had found heaven.

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We enjoyed the sunshine and cervezas for a short time before heading back down to partake in siesta time.  On our way down, however, we both knew that we would be back to that bar, if not the next day than the one after.

Sure enough, the next day, after exploring the other side of the bay, we made our way back up the hillside to that enchanted overlook bar.  That’s when we met Geert.  We had already finished a round and a bowl of olives when Jen saw him sit down by himself a couple of tables away.  The typical extrovert, she suggested we invite him over.  Ever the introvert, I was hesitant.  “I heard him speak english, Mike, maybe he’s traveling alone,” she says.  Then, “I don’t know, he looks like a merchant sailor.”  I mocked her.  “Because you know so many merchant mariners,” I said.  But I knew better than to dissuade her.  A short time later she invited him over and he accepted the offer.

Geert is from Holland and, son-of-a-bitch, Jen was right, he is a sailor.  She gives me that knowing smirk as he’s telling us this, the one that says, “haven’t you learned by now that I am always right?”  Formerly of the Dutch Navy, Geert was now exploring the possibility of becoming a merchant mariner.  Not only that, he’s a ‘sailor’ sailor; owning a small steel-hull sailboat that, until recently, he and his ex-girlfriend were planning to take through the French canals and into the Mediterranean.  And this is where that whole divine intervention thing comes in.  Geert was on his way back to Holland after just completing the Camino de Santiago.  What?  Yeah, I know, mind blown.

I’m sure some super smart mathematician could run the numbers and tell me that, statistically speaking, the chances of running into someone in Spain who has just done the Camino is highly probable.  Sure, after all, hundreds of thousands of people complete the Camino every year and who wouldn’t go to San Sebastián for a little R&R after walking 800 kilometers?  But right there, at that bar overlooking the entrance to the bay, with the sun starting to sink low and a few beers in our bellies… yeah, it was easy to get lost in the possibility of something cosmic at work.

Whatever was working behind the scenes to bring us together that evening, we rolled with it.  What we had planned to be just a couple of beers before siesta time, like the day before, became three friends sharing much more.  We sat and talked (ok, we had some more beers too) and dismissed siesta entirely, watching the sun turn orange above the horizon.  The temperature dropped quickly and so we decided to continue the experience in the old part of town over some pintxos and a glass of wine (or two… or three).

Good pintxos, good wine, and a great new friend to share the evening with.  Thank you Jen for being the extrovert I struggle to be.  Thank you Geert for accepting the invitation from a crazy blonde American girl.  And thank you to whomever, whatever, brought us together that evening.  Even if it was just coincidence, that’s still something to be thankful for.

Buen Camino.

The city was sleeping when we arrived into Bilbao.  The beautiful little airport, which had a 1960’s TWA decor to it, was awake only to accept our last flight of the evening before shutting down completely for the night.  Customs was a breeze and our bags came out quickly and unscathed.  Fortunately, the Bilbobus runs all night so we did not have to wait long before heading into the city.

Our host, Josune, was gracious enough to stay up late waiting for us, peering over the balcony at the two weary travelers standing outside the tiny bar next to her apartment building, and then coming down the five flights in her slippers to let us in.  The appartment was tiny, compared to American standards, but typical for Europe.  We had a private room and shared a bathroom with the two gentlemen who were sharing the other room.  The kitchen served as a common area.  The small appartment meant that the tour was short and we were quickly showered and ready for bed.

The idea was that the shower before bed would help us sleep better, and I’m sure it did, but in my case, unfortunately, better is not necessarily longer.  As soon as the Sunday sun was brightening up the sky outside our window, I was awake.  Jen could sleep through the apocalypse if I would let her, so I quietly rolled out of bed and put my shoes on to go forage for some coffee.  It didn’t take long.  For coffee drinkers, Spain is the land of milk & honey.  At the end of the street, in front of a small plaza flanked on one side by a small (in comparison to others in the city) cathedral, was a bar/cafe that was already open and serving the locals that were stopping in on their way to work.

Cafe con leche para yo, y para Jen, cafe Americano para llavar.  Wow, in my sleep deprived state my Spanish was somehow able to form in my brain and slush out of my mouth without having to think too much about it.  Not that asking for a coffee with milk and an American style coffee “to go” is advanced level Spanish, but I was impressed with myself nonetheless.

Armed with caffeine in my veins and a cup of black gold for Jen, I returned to the apartment to save her from the deathly grasp of jet lag.  I knew that if she did not wake up soon, it would take days for her to get on schedule.  Also, “holy crap we are in Bilbao and the weather is amazing why are you still in bed get your ass up and enjoy the day with me… good morning beautiful.”  I mentioned that I’d had my coffee already, right?

Surprisingly, it didn’t take much to get Jen out of bed.  She was already awake under the covers reading when I got back.  The coffee gave her the little jolt she needed to get vertical and put some clothes on.  That was the start of our first day in Bilbao.  It was a day filled with so much amazement and wonder.  Amazement over the beautiful city, the sheer number of people and families with their dogs out enjoying the day, and the blue sky and sunshine that warmed the brisk morning air.  Wonder at what we would find around each new corner or at the top of some steep staircase.  We took a risk starting our trip in a city that we knew little about and is not one of the most talked about tourist destinations in Spain, and our risk had apparently paid off… tenfold.

From what we have learned, less than two decades ago the industrial city of Bilbao was looking to reinvent itself.  Like so many factory towns around the world, industry was moving away to more profitable regions around the world.  Bilbao could have withered away as businesses and jobs flittered on to other cities.  But, like the 50-year-old who goes back to school to learn a new trade, Bilbao decided it was time to change.  When the Guggenheim museum was looking to open another location, the citizens of Bilbao jumped at the opportunity and helped to foot the bill to build it for them.  Certainly, the Guggenheim is a wonderful centerpiece to the city, and it has brought a level of art and culture to a place that was once just molten steel and factories.  But, in my humble opinion, there has always been a culture, an “art” to the people who live in this marvelous city, that the presence of the Guggenheim simply allowed it to come to the surface for all to see.

On our first day we saw this in complete detail.  Walking along the river that cuts through the center of the city, it was as if winter had finally cast off its shadow.  The crystal clear blue of the sky and inevitable warmth of the sun had brought everyone out to enjoy a walk along the promenade.  Young couples and families with children strolled along together, making laps along the river on one side, crossing the pedestrian bridge to the other, enjoying the Sunday flower market, and returning back to the other side of the river.  Grandchildren visited grandparents at the nursing home, sitting with them on the park bench to soak up the sun and watch the people flow by.  And mixed in with all of this, mingling as best they could, was an American couple moving with the flow, giggling at the small delights, the sights and smells, that they were absorbing.

When we thought we had absorbed as much as we could, we decided to partake in that most wonderful Spanish custom, siesta.  They say that sleep is when your brain makes long-term memories.  Siesta time is perfect for clearing your head, moving the day’s events into long term storage, and freeing your mind to soak in even more new experiences.  For two days in Bilbao we set ourselves to this routine: walk, explore, eat, drink, siesta, and repeat.  I could try to detail everything we did and saw and ate, but this isn’t that type of blog.  Sure, I’ll throw in some pictures to give you an idea, but when it comes to the city of Bilbao, you must see it for yourself to truly enjoy it.

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What can you do in London during a 13 hour layover?  That was the question we were asking ourselves as we stepped off the plane at London Gatwick Airport.  The answer: quite a bit, actually.

The eight-hour flight from Orlando was uneventful, which, in my opinion, is the best kind.  It was a red-eye, however so we did our best to get some sleep after the meal and a movie.  Thank god for Ambien, let me tell you.  Three solid hours of sleep in economy class is a modern-day miracle.  But I digress.

We landed at 6:30 am and, after getting our bags and processing through customs, were out the door and waiting for the train to London shortly after 7:00.  The train took just under 30 minutes to deposit us at Victoria Station where we commenced what could be considered the first leg of our Camino.  Seriously, people, we walked all day.  The only difference to Camino walking was the fact that we did not have our backpacks (we paid 25£ to store them at the airport for the day).

From Victoria Station we made our way to Westminster Bridge and tried out one of the free audio tours on the Rick Steve’s Audio Europe app.  The tour took us from the bridge, past Parliament, and up to Trafalgar Square.

After that we tried another audio tour that took us up the Strand toward St. Paul’s Cathedral but, honestly, the tour was cramping our style.  Jen lost interest first and, after we got a little lost trying to find some silly side street, I decided I’d had enough too.  We disconnected from Rick and reconnected with each other.  That’s when the fun began.

Jen and I have this thing we do when we are exploring strange new places.  One of us will ask, “which way,” and the other will say, “I don’t know, that street looks interesting.”  To which, the other person says, “I was thinking that exact thing, let’s go.”  And we’re off.  This time it took us up to St. Paul’s, across the Thames, and on toward Tower Bridge.  On the way, we walked past the Globe Theater and the London Bridge (which is totally boring, by the way).  I was surprised to find the Golden Hind, a replica of Sir Francis Drake’s ship that he sailed around the world in.  I last saw this ship when she made a circumnavigation back in the 80’s.  She stopped in Moss Landing, CA for some reason.  I must have been in third or fourth grade because I remember taking a field trip and learning all about the English scourge of the Spanish Armada.  It was a bit of a head trip to see her again after so much time and half way around the world.

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By this time we were feeling hungry and almost stopped at some touristy looking pub for fish & chips.  Thank god we didn’t because a short time later we stumbled onto one of the most awesome markets we’ve ever been to, Borough Market.  Here we drank in the sights, smells, and tastes of everything in sight.  It was like a gastronomic playground where all of your senses are awake and engaged.  We each took turns picking what to try next, moving from one stall to another like children set free in Willy Wonka’s factory.  Seriously, this market is a must for any London visit.  I mean, just look at the pictures and imagine the smells.

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Revitalised with food and Turkish Tea (we learned its magical powers a few years ago on a study abroad trip) we continued on toward our destination… nowhere in particular.  We crossed back over the Thames via the Tower Bridge and walked past the Tower of London.  Bypassing the throngs of tourists waiting to go inside, we marched on.  Our rail pass included access to the Tube and, not wanting to waste that part of the experience, we descended below the city streets to board the subway (being sure to “mind the gap,” of course).  By this time it was still too early to head back to the airport, but we could start heading toward Victoria Station at least.

St. James park and Buckingham Palace are within walking distance of Victoria Station so we thought, why not?  What we discovered when we got close to the palace was that a whole lot of British people do not like this whole Brexit thing.  A little over a million people, in fact.  As the clouds over London were parting and the Sun was starting to shine, Jen and I became bystanders on the edge of a massive protest.  With so much negativity and divisiveness in the world it was uplifting to see so many people come together for the purpose of, well, staying together, I suppose.  We did not know then how big this protest was, but it gave us both a little hope for humanity.

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Rejuvenated once more (mentally this time) we left the protest and headed for Victoria Station.  A small bathroom situation almost caused us to miss our train back to the airport (really, how could all the bathrooms in the station be under construction at one time?) but we made it and sat down for the first time in what seemed like ages.  Once at the airport we recovered our bags, checked in to our next flight, grabbed a quick bite (Jen found her Ramen, yay!), and boarded the plane by 7:15 pm.

Another uneventful flight, though slightly cramped, to Bilbao where we landed shortly after 10:00 pm (Spain is one hour ahead of England, for some reason).  A bus and a taxi brought us safely to our AirBnB where we promptly showered and laid down for some much needed sleep.  Before dozing off I noted to Jen that this was the first time since getting out of bed Friday morning that we had been horizontal.  Let’s see, carry the one, subtract for time change… that’s about 36 hours of sitting or standing.  Needless to say, we slept great.

Until next time, buen Camino!

Jen and I have been so busy tying up loose ends these past couple of weeks that the reality of what we are about to do hasn’t had time to fully sink in. Now, as she lies sleeping on a bench in a deserted part of the airport, I stare out onto the tarmac at the plane that will bring us to a whole new world. Here comes reality.

Reflecting on this past week, two things become clear: One, we have some of the most supportive and loving friends anyone could ask for. Every night this week was spent celebrating with as many of them as we could fit in our crazy schedule. Every part of me, except for my liver, will miss them and wishes they could join us at some point on our journey. Two, my wife is unbelievable. Seriously, how many people do you know who would give up a job they love to go live like a bum with their husband in Europe. I am truly blessed to have Jen at my side. Also, it’s a good thing she’s sleeping right now or she’d be making vomiting noises as she reads this over my shoulder. I thought about posting a picture of her sleeping but I don’t want to become another “Florida Man” meme; “Florida Man Killed by Wife at Airport For Taking Unflattering Photo.”

Boarding should start soon so this is goodbye for now. Next time I post we will be half way around the world. Buen Camino!