Sunshine on My Bedbugs Makes Me Happy

There's nothing like waking up to sunshine streaming through the window after two soggy, wet days of hiking to make me smile.  Just the fact that sunshine was coming through the window was a bit unsettling, since we have been packed and ready to walk well before sunrise on most days.  However, now that we are in the home stretch, we have a couple of short hiking days ahead before our final push to Santiago.  We had decided to give ourselves a break and not set an alarm; thus, the 7:00 a.m. wake up to a hostel half empty of its pilgrims.

We continued our morning of slothfulness after packing up too.  We went to a bar and had coffee and hot chocolate BEFORE we had even started walking. It all felt very civilized. The blue skies and sunshine meant that we got to enjoy all of the beautiful views that we had missed on the previous day. It was amazing.  We had really climbed quite high, and we found ourselves looking down over rolling hills of emerald green pastures.  We paused for a few photos before getting on with our walk.  

Starting two hours behind most everyone else made things feel like a bit of a race for the entire day.  I'm not sure if it was the sunshine, the late start, or the coffee, but we all practically ran for the first two hours (mostly down, but with some occasional unanticipated steep climbs).  Each little village that we passed through was more like one gigantic farm set right on the track with animals and all of their accompanying flies and smells competing with us for space. When we finished one particularly steep slog to a point called Alto de Poio, we were ready for our first stop.  We were greeted at the top of the hill by a huge group (hundreds) of teenagers and a bunch of vans that were shuttling them along. We immediately ran for a quieter spot and began plotting our strategy to stay away from them all day.

We have been adequately forewarned that the pilgrimage takes on a sort of over-populated madness in this final week.  Many people walk the final 100 km to earn their "compostella" at the end of the trek, so they join in for the final few days.  Others are bussed in to walk just the final day of the Way into Santiago.  It has been a difficult transition. We've been used to going hours without seeing people and then welcoming reunions from time to time with familiar faces. Now we find that we are shunning the crowds and trying to regain a little bit of that peace. It's easy to take on a very unenlightened superior-pilgrim attitude, and the kids and I are spending a lot of time talking about it. As I hear myself remind them that this trail is for everyone and that it's great that everyone is out here walking some part of it, I find that I have to listen very carefully to my own words.  I have to bite my tongue and model patience. It's not easy. 

http://youtu.be/H8R_iAsAmxg

After a lunch stop on a great patio in the sunshine halfway through our day and our descent, we walked our final hour into the village of Triacastela where we checked into a hostel at the record early time of 2:00 p.m.  That's when the real fun began. It was time for a bedbug eradication fiesta.  Brianna's arms looked like a topographical map of the Pyrenees, and she was scratching like a monkey with fleas.  Naturally, it was siesta time in Spain right at the time we were prepared for our fiesta, which meant not a single store was open for us to purchase laundry detergent.  So, we set about boiling every last bug to death in the hostel's washing machine.  Brianna, clad in her bikini, dumped every possible bedbug harboring material from her backpack into the washer.  With a sunny afternoon ahead with nothing better to do than switch loads of laundry, it all worked out perfectly, and by the time the sun was setting on another day, Brianna was crawling into her sterilized sleeping bag and praying that this night's mattress would be free of the varmints. The rest of us crossed our fingers that we would not be the next victims as we dozed off to sleep. Just another day on the Camino.

Land of the Lost

At the risk of turning this blog about enlightenment into tales from the dark side of hostel hell, I must begin with a quick recap of last night's madness.  Despite my lack of fondness for our hostel upon our arrival, I was completely exhausted and quite content to finally lay my head down upon my rubber pillow under the Jesus skylight.  Shortly after someone turned out the fluorescent light around 10:30, the fun began.   The man on the lower bunk next to Brianna chimed in with what she called a "wet" snore. After you have been sleeping in a hostel for 22 nights in a row, you are uniquely qualified to categorize snores. This snore was rather disturbing to all in the room, but it was particularly disturbing to the man's bunk mate who decided to bang on the metallic bed frame (kind of like hitting a stop sign) whenever the snore reached a certain number of decibels in order to awaken the offending snorer. I dozed off and on to the alternating cacophony of "wet" snoring and metallic chiming.  It was then that the man with the plague began to play his part in the nocturnal insanity that was unfolding. Two beds over from me, the coughing began.  It was not a dry little cough that said, "Oops, I've inhaled a bed bug. Let me expel it."  It was more of a rib cage rattling, congested hack that screamed for serious antibiotics and a week in quarantine.  Those of us who sat upright for good parts of the night checking to see that this man was still alive, learned the pattern.  First, he writhed; then, he arched his back; next, he coughed and coughed until we were confident he was going to vomit.  Finally, he muttered something about Jesus and dozed off for a minute or two before repeating the entire scenario. I was pretty certain that I would wake up this morning to discover that he had expelled a phlegm-covered, slippery pink lung at some point during the night.

For better or for worse, having survived the nighttime adventure, we were ready to take the party to the trail in the morning.  It promised to be one of the toughest days of the month as we would have two very steep climbs and one steep descent. We opted for the scenic route, which meant we would not be walking along the road, but rather going up and over a mountain for 11 km before rejoining the road down below. After spending the first kilometer of our walk doubled over in laughter as we discussed the nocturnal nightmare,  we began the real climb in alternating mist and drizzle. Apart from the sound of our panting, it was peaceful as we climbed higher and higher out of the valley.  We eventually made it to the small town of Pradela where we found the one bar and had coffee before rejoining the road for a bit. 

Our map showed that we would take a steep path down to the right to keep us off the road for a little while.  We saw a path to the right that wasn't exactly marked, but we decided to take it anyway.  This is the part where we inadvertently decided that today was the day to forge our own "way." We went down a hillside so steep that none of us could fathom turning around to go back up, so we just kept going in hopes that we were really on the right path. We got wetter and wetter as the trail narrowed, and we walked through long grass and thorns. Eventually we found ourselves gingerly picking our way across a mud bog when Nolan slipped and fell, splitting open his knee (for the third time - same knee).  He lay in the mud on top of his backpack like an overturned turtle, crying crocodile tears and asking, "Why?Why? Why?"  Foster and Brianna, in a predictable display of sibling empathy, hopscotched over him and began taking a video of a slug.  I, in a typical display of motherly empathy and patience with this knee thing, said, "Get up out of the mud. You're just getting wetter."  Then, once I managed to get myself across the bog, I tended to the knee (again) with toilet paper, water, and another big band aid.  In the meantime, Foster and Brianna entertained themselves with the slug and took selfies in the rain.  

http://youtu.be/tVT4m01wUHs

Once that crisis was over, we carried on downward into a deep, damp forest that was beginning to look like a set from "Land of the Lost." That's when the trail just ended.  It was one of those trail ends that you think just can't be true - like if you look hard enough at the ground you can actually conjure a path out of the random leaves and pine cones that you see, when, in actuality, there's nothing.  Nada.  

Just as we were weighing the merits of turning around before this little adventure inadvertently turned into "Survivor Camino," and we found ourselves eating those disgusting, black, sausage-sized slugs, we spotted the road down below.  We bush-whacked our way in that general direction and came across two pilgrims descending a very civilized looking, dry dirt path.  They welcomed us back to the trail with friendly smiles, and we carried on our way. It was a long, wet adventure that made what should have been a 2 km downhill trot, into a damp 90 minute wilderness expedition.  We ate chocolate in the town at the bottom of the mountain to celebrate our self-rescue and read the guidebook a little more carefully for the upcoming stretch.

We found ourselves on the road again, mostly quiet roads leading from village to village.  The villages were close together, so it was an interesting stretch of walking with lots to see and plenty of options for refreshments. We stopped for lunch at a bakery that smelled amazing, but we still managed to end up with more of Spain's everlasting ham sandwiches. 

After lunch, we knew that we had a long afternoon of climbing in store for us.  The rain continued off and on as we began to climb. We officially crossed into the province of Galicia, which, true to its Celtic roots right down to its weather, was grey and misty, with green, green mountains and full, flowing rivers. 

Gone were the dry riverbeds of two days ago when we were laughing at the silliness of bridges with twenty arches which spanned tiny creeks flowing under a single arch.  Now the rivers are raging. The trees are coated in moss, and we have begun to feel as though we are growing mold ourselves (and the scent of Nolan's backpack just blends right in). 

After a few long, steep climbs into mountain villages, we finally arrived in O'Cebriero in driving rain at 5:30.  O'Cebriero is a mountain top village with stone buildings dating back to the 11th century, and its church is one of the earliest surviving buildings on the Camino.  

This afternoon, it was a misty, grey, windy, cold stopping spot, but, most importantly, it had beds available at the hostel. We were ecstatic to find that we had a room for just eight with NO bunkbeds.  Life's simple pleasures now include being able to sit upright in bed and not having to haul myself onto a top bunk. 

Foster, Brianna, and I ventured out for dinner while Nolan napped at the hostel.  We caught a few glimpses of the gorgeous valley below when the clouds parted for a few seconds at a time.  We have high hopes for some sunshine tomorrow. However, as I snuggle into my sleeping bag on my very own bed, my eyes are on the more immediate future. A quick, visual survey of our roommate situation leads me to believe that tonight may be the night that I get some sleep.  There are no early signs of the plague. It's nearly 10 p.m., and there has been nary a snore.  I'm feeling the luck of the Irish shining on me!

Wet, Wet, Wet

Yuck. It was a damp day on the Camino today. After a restless night in the living room of last night's hostel (due to the extreme snoring competition happening in my bunkroom), we got an early start, saw a beautiful sunrise, and cruised through a quick 10 km before breakfast.  It started to rain just as we walked into the city of Ponferrada for coffee and apple pastries.

We pulled out the rain gear and set out under grey clouds and a steady drizzle after breakfast.  We found ourselves walking from town to town again today with stretches along the road broken up by beautiful clay paths through vineyards and green valleys.  It was a nice mix with fast walking and occasional breaks of sun (before the rain would come down again).

We managed to squeeze in a quick picnic lunch in a park Cacabelos before the afternoon rain came down hard.  There was really nothing to do but keep going, so we squinted our eyes, got wet, and walked through the downpour.  After a little more road walking, we spent our last 5 km in a spectacular vineyard with misty mountain views and a constant stream of ups and downs.  The red clay path became extremely slippery, and we found ourselves slipping backwards as we climbed up steep hills with our shoes caked with wet, red clay.  

Despite our early start, we were amazed by the number of other pilgrims on the trail today.  It is getting busier and busier as we get closer to Santiago and more routes merge.  We thought we would have an easier job finding a hostel tonight in Villafranca del Bierzo, but, once again, it proved to be a little tricky.  After a 31 km day of walking, expending the extra effort on steep cobblestone streets to traipse around to find a place to sleep is painful.  We did end up with beds (which is always nice on a rainy night) in an odd little place. I have a rubber mattress on my top bunk with a plastic Jesus skylight directly over me.  The solar-heated showers are cold (funny how that works on a grey and sunless day), and, with the constant drizzle, every smelly, wet pilgrim is packed into the limited covered common space this evening.

We did get a warm dinner in town.  When Brianna's arrived, she grasped her bowl of pasta with two hands and said, "I just want to put my face in this to warm up." Desperate times. I'm dreaming of a washer and dryer, a thick mattress with sheets, and a full night of undisturbed sleep. I'm pretty confident that will remain a dream for just a bit longer. 

High Point

The countdown is on. We passed the highest point on the trail today as we made our way through the Montes de Leon.  It feels like it's all downhill from here.  With only nine days left, it's feeling like we are really going to make it.

After sweet breakfast provided by the hostel (which meant I got two cups of coffee for a change), we had a 7 km climb to start the morning before we arrived at La Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross, a classic symbol of the Way of St. James. It was a moment I had been anticipating for a few days, and I have to admit I was a little disappointed.  The cross itself was impressive, and the pile of stones representing pilgrims' love and blessings was enormous.  However, its proximity to the road meant that there was a traffic jam of pilgrims (bicyclists, walkers, and those who had arrived in vans) waiting at the cross when we arrived.  We took our time and waited for most of the cyclists to clear out.  Then, almost unbelievably, two remaining guys pulled out a remote control helicopter equipped with a video camera and started flying it around the cross, stirring up dust, and whirring like a weed whacker.  It was a little surreal. In between fly-bys we managed to sneak in a turn at the cross, leaving a few mementos and memories of our own.

From there we moved along, anxious to begin our descent. We had to stop for a few more cute baby animal visits along the way (you'd think we did not have baby animals in Vermont).  We really enjoyed the change in scenery from the arid, roadside route we have been traveling. It felt like we were in the Alps.  Purple flowers covered the terrain next to the trail.  The path was narrow and rocky, and it got steep quickly.  By the time we walked into the village of Acebo for lunch, our toes and knees were screaming for a break from the downhill. We ate a quick lunch and headed down some more. Just two hours after lunch, we strolled into a little mountain paradise called Molinaseca. 

The first treat was finding an enormous mulberry tree/bush just outside of town.  The kids stuffed themselves with berries and came away looking like they had committed some kind of heinous crime.  Then we strolled over a medieval bridge over the rio Meruelo, where the river water has been dammed to form two beautiful natural swimming pools, complete with ladders and a smooth concrete bottom. We knew that a swim was in store just as soon as we found a room.  

And that is where the fun began and our luck ran out.  Last night we were offered herbs from the herb garden and fed breakfast in the morning.  Tonight, however, would be a different story. The municipal hostel was full.  The back up plan was full. On the third try, we found ourselves in the lobby of a classy- looking hotel with white furniture (mind you all three kids looked like axe murderers at this point, and I looked as though I had been rolling around in the desert for days). The lady behind the desk looked up at us with disdain and reluctantly said that there were four beds in the hostel.  I coughed up more money than I have had to pay for a room in three weeks, and she pointed us out the door, across the street to a small house behind a fence. We got the last four beds in what feels like a bad college apartment situation (except all of the occupants are decades past college).  There are three rooms with four beds in each.  Brianna and Nolan managed to get into a room together.  Foster is in a room with three other pilgrims, and I have another room with three over-aged roommates.  There was no one in my room, so I went into the kitchen to check things out.  The sign on the door welcomed us to use the stove, but there would be a fee of 2 Euros for the gas canister to make it work (and that would have to be retrieved from the friendly lady at the desk in the lobby of the hotel). Foster came out of his room rolling his eyes. "Oh boy.  This is going to be great.  There's a large lady on the bottom bunk of my bed, and she's not wearing any pants. It seemed a little awkward to stay in there." I agreed that might be slightly awkward, and we decided to hang out in the living room to wait for the bathroom to free up.  That's when my bunk mate exited the shower half-clothed.  I can almost assure you that he will be snoring up a storm tonight.  Naturally I am on the top bunk of one of those bunk beds designed for Barbie dolls that shake like there is an earthquake whenever someone over 15 pounds rolls over.  I can't wait to gracefully haul myself into bed tonight.  I guess there is a positive in the situation: I could be on the bottom bunk when it all comes crashing down. Alas - another Camino experience to file away, and another reminder to get up early and hit the road, so we have more sleeping options at the end of the day.

http://youtu.be/iua8TeK7Kl4

With little reason to hang out at the hostel, we were quick to head back into town for a dip in the frigid mountain waters that were streaming into the swimming "pool." Nolan and Brianna were the bravest.  My toes had brain freeze before my brain even realized they were in the water.  Nolan actually did some jumping from the wall and survived the heart-attack temperatures to climb back out again.  We enjoyed snacks by the river for dinner (not wanting to mess with the scary lady with the gas canister at the hotel) and came back to the hostel for a little WIFI before bed. I can hear a rumbling emanating from my bedroom as I write, and I am losing enthusiasm for the whole sleep effort before I have even scaled the ladder of death to my sleeping bag rolled out on a mattress I would prefer not to see.  Some days I think I'm just a little too old for this pilgrim experience.  I just want to be a pampered pilgrim. Is that so wrong? Pray for me.

Testing Us

Argh! This Camino is testing us.  Brianna finished the day singing a song that converted "Camino" into "Kill Me Now." Foster was hallucinating about being a bird and soaring effortlessly over the trail. I was muttering "F...ing Camino" on every other step.  Nolan was just bringing up the rear in a giant ball of dust...skipping, jogging, whatever annoying youthful people who feel no pain do after they've already been walking for nine hours. It was a tough day.

Part of it was our own fault.  We got a slow start out of the hostel.  We dawdled along the way - stopping to pat calves at sunrise, posing with a concrete pilgrim statue, teeter tottering at a playground, and climbing an artistic tower under a full moon.  We had lots of fun and made very little progress in the first three hours. 

After a quick breakfast only 10 km into our day, we dawdled some more to take pictures of baby kittens, enjoy the Roman ruins in the city of Astorga, empty the supermarket of tasty treats, and gawk at the cathedral. By noon we had covered 13 km.  It was not looking like a very fun afternoon with 22 more km to cover. 

We put our heads down just as the wind kicked up - a steady, hot gust that blew desert dust into every nook and cranny of our bodies.  The sun beat down, and we cursed the Camino as we clicked off kilometers.  Our goal was to make it to Rabinal del Camino before dinner. We stopped in one church on our way out of Astorga for a stamp for our pilgrim passports.  Brianna went in first, and when the kind lady inside found out that she wasn't Catholic, she gave her a rosary. I went in next and received no such gift.  While I was moping about my lack of souvenir a little bit later, Brianna said, "She took one look at you and knew you were in WAY too deep to bother."  It's always nice to get a resounding endorsement from your own offspring (particularly when they are probably speaking the truth). Whatever.

The afternoon was long, hot and difficult - a mental and physical test. After two hours, we stopped for drinks, and then we began breaking it down into 30 minute increments - stopping every half hour for a rest, drink, snack break.  Somehow, we finally made it to Rabanal, but it was not before Foster began talking to a pine cone and Brianna started singing suicidal tunes.  I uttered many sentiments into the wind, but I had nothing to lose (apparently I have already been deemed a heathen). 

We found a sweet hostel run by the order of St. James in England, which is operated by volunteers with cute British accents who serve a "proper" tea at 4:00 (which we missed).  They did invite us to cut herbs from the garden in the event that we would be cooking dinner (over my dead body). However, the one accessory which we did take full advantage of was the laundry spinner.  I don't believe I have had a a happier moment on the Camino than the moment when I stepped out of the shower to see Foster and Nolan busy in the courtyard below hand-washing their laundry (and Nolan providing lessons to anyone who was interested on how to correctly operate the clothes spinner).  It sincerely warmed my hardened little heathen heart.

After showers and laundry were behind us, we hobbled across the street to enjoy the "pilgrim menu" for dinner. I gave thanks for hostels that operate on a "donation" system, which allow us to splurge on dinner after an exhausting day. Free of the Internet and connected to each other by one hellacious afternoon, we reminisced about what a long day it had been.  And, as we scrolled through the photos to the beginning of the day and Brianna cooed over the adorable calf she was petting at sunrise, her veal arrived. We all snickered a little at the irony. Brianna shed a tear or two of guilt before dissolving into a gush of deliciousness and eventually settling on the routine of patting the veal with her tongue before she ate each bite to acknowledge the cuteness of the calf that gave his/her life for her dinner. Just another day on the Camino with some crazy kids.