Camino de Santiago de Compostela Travel Journal

May 2-May 19, 2002

Starting point: Valcarlos/Luzaide (Navarra)

Craig Randall

May 2/3, 2002

In the Air Over the Atlantic

I am currently sitting in seat 25H of Swiss flight 041 from LAX on its way to Zurich.  I (without any protest by me) graciously relinquished my seat (J) over the wing next to the window to my as yet unnamed travel companion: An older man of unknown origin.  He seems more comfortable in that seat than I would have been anyway.  Dinner was edible, especially when eaten in light of the persistent memory of Air France’s 1999 “Chunk-o-Lung” lunch.

There is a distinct aroma to international flying.  It usually includes intermittent wafts of urine and perspiration.  Nevertheless, the most difficult part of this trip is making itself more and more evident as time goes by (for the record, I’ve been in the air for all of three and one-half hours).  That is that I miss my wife and I miss my Riley.  They were holding up better than I was at LAX, but we all broke down as I was rounding the corner and out of sight to enter my boarding area.

At least the in-flight entertainment has been good so far.  First they showed “A Beautiful Mind” and now “Ocean’s 11”.  If I can just fall asleep before they unleash the hideous Ted Danson sitcom “Becker” on us…

Still May 3, 2002

Oh how I love air travel.  I always get so much sleep, especially on these long-haul flights.  I can’t sleep so I write.  I know I’ll be totally wasted tomorrow, but I look at it like an all-nighter in college (which I think I did only twice).  I’ll rebound.  The sun is already coming up outside and we only have about three hours left before we get to Zurich.  I think I’ll get up and walk a bit.  I’m sure not getting any sleep.

As I was up, I met a guy from Glendale (Frank) who’s headed to Switzerland to participate in a “love ride”.  I guess it’s a Harley-Davidson thing, and there really is one such fundraiser like it outside the U.S.  Those who ride are raising money for Muscular Dystrophy.  He says he’s done a hundred such rides and met a myriad of celebrities.  This ride should raise a few hundred thousand USD for MD research.  That sounds good to me.  I think every biker I’ve ever talked to one-on-one has been the nicest person I’ve ever met.  You’d never think it from the tough veneer, but these people are genuinely wonderful, and just happen to have a hobby that requires leather and boots.  So what.  Frank was a really nice man, and had some fascinating stories to tell.

May 3, 2002

Zurich, Switzerland/Madrid (Madrid) Spain

I’ve landed in sunny…er…rainy Switzerland.  The advantage to making good time on leg one is an extended layover before the next leg begins.  Thanks Swiss.  Oh, oops…did I say “advantage”?

I definitely know I’ve left California and am in the heart of Europe.  Two words: Smoking section.  Two more words: Smoke wherever.  No wonder Europeans get so pissed when they come to California and get fined for smoking.  You can’t do it anywhere in public anymore!  [Not that there’s anything wrong with that…]  I should’ve snapped a picture of this, but I’ll describe instead:  A slender, thirty-something Euro with her dominatrix leather pants and her oh-so-studious dragging the last vestiges of flavor from a rancid Swiss cig.  Right below the “no smoking” sign.

I was as a clearly non-Swiss Asian woman picks up trash and changes the trashcan liners.  I suppose two things: 1) life must be pretty crappy in Asia, and 2) borders in the 21^st-century world are really nothing more than lines on a map.   I do enjoy a trip to a European airport like this, though.  You see people from, literally, all over the globe.  A flight to Accra, Ghana just boarded with what looked like all native Ghanans aboard.  My Los Angeles leg of this trip was loaded with folks who were headed seemingly everywhere.  The guy next to me, who is still unnamed, was connecting to Bucharest, Romania here.

The view out the window, once you look over the taxiing planes and ground crew is really quite pretty.  There are low hills surrounding the airport.  The variety in the shades of green on said hills tells me that rain isn’t an issue here.  There are a few small villages on the hillsides.  They must live a noisy existence…sort of like those who live in Inglewood.  Riley would like this airport, and this particular boarding area.  They have a Lego play area for kids.  It looks like a smaller version of the one she loved in Minneapolis at the Mall of America.  There’s a little Spanish boy playing in it now, and his mother seems content to have him blow off a little steam.

May 5, 2002

Valcarlos/Luzaide, Navarra

As usual, time gets the best of me and the times I want to write seem inopportune, leaving me to recollect later what I should’ve written in the moment.

What can I say?  We’re here in Valcarlos and are headed to bed so that we can start our trek to Santiago tomorrow.  Valcarlos is located about 3 kilometers from the French border, nestled well into the Pyrenees.  It’s the first Spanish town on the road from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, just over the border in France.  The small village of Arneguy, which almost straddles the border, is between St. Jean and Valcarlos. 

Eric’s flight was a little late coming in from London, but the extra time it took them to get here didn’t assist them in getting his bike on the flight.  They lost it along the way, and we had to hope and pray that it would be there at the airport waiting when Greg showed up this morning.  It was, and we all breathed easier.  We headed back to the hotel to assemble our bikes, so that we could leave the transport boxes at the Hotel Madrid (c/Carretas 10), and throw everything into our rental Chrysler Caravan.  No Dodge in Spain.  There are three guys who have been incredible helpful to us at the Hotel Madrid, Miguel, who is Navarro, Javier, who is Madrileño, and the shuttle driver, whose name I didn’t catch, but is easily distinguished by the fact that he’s at least six-foot five.  As I went back and forth to the airport I had occasion to chat with the driver quite a bit.

Eric and I went to dinner (late of course…which is early for everyone here…don’t forget, Spain’s dinner hour is easily nine o’clock or later).  We ate Las Cuevas de Luis Candelas in the area south of Plaza Mayor.  We ate light, but I couldn’t resist an order of cordero asado (roast lamb), and I was able to turn Eric onto tortilla de patata.  He said it was quite good, and I’m sure we’ll all be ordering a lot more of it in the next couple of weeks.

This morning we got up and ate breakfast then went to pick up the rental van from Avis before heading over to get Greg.  Thankfully, Greg’s bike arrived with him, we picked up Eric’s aforementioned late-arriving bike and we were just about set to hit the road for Pamplona.

We take all of our gear back to the Hotel Madrid, where they’ve graciously agreed to keep our random luggage and bike boxes while we’re out gallivanting around the Camino de Santiago.  Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I’m trying to be so nice to them.  It’s either that or the fact that the personnel at the hotel is truly accommodating.  I think it’s the latter.  We’re all back in the room that Eric and I have had for the last night (me for two) and putting both Eric and Greg’s bicycles together.  I’m glad that I’ve already taken care of mine, as there’s now one less thing to do.  We actually went to get the rental van from Avis (a very American-looking “Chrysler” Voyager…they don’t do “Dodge” here…).  We park in front of the hotel where they’ve blocked off the space for “carga y descarga” only.  We appreciate that they would consider us worthy of a valid load/unload vehicle.  We’re thankfully able to get all the bikes and gear inside the van, and not have to sacrifice the third seat in the back, which would’ve made Eric’s trip to Pamplona quite uncomfortable.

We got loaded and set out up Calle Alcalá towards the Calle O’Donnell and onto the N-II towards Zaragoza.  We won’t make it to Zaragoza as we turn north on the N-111 and then onto the A-15 freeway (actually not free, but the best analogy to American roadways, as they’re super-fast [limit 120 kph] and in great shape).  We catch the toll way just outside Olite, opting to pass the monumental city from afar.  The last time we stopped in Olite instead of getting on to Valcarlos, we ended up in some pea-soup fog and with two flat tires in the dark Pyrenees highlands.  I wasn’t interested in a repeat performance of that forgettable opus. 

We made great time all the way to Pamplona, in spite of the periodic rains, which got very heavy as we passed Sigüenza, and service stations stops to exchange our hard-earned euros for mosto, conguitos and yayitas.  Man I love those cookies!

I’d forgotten what a beautiful drive this is, passing some red clay landscapes, with impressive promontories and scattered forests.  Some of the massifs outside Pamplona are absolutely staggering in their sheer size.  Jesus and Ana met us in Noain, just outside Pamplona, where the airport is located.  They had the same van we had, as they rented one for their trip to Tarragona, and waited to turn it in until they had us safe and sound at Curutzezahar (the family rural etxea in Valcarlos).  Between the van and the car, we had room to spare, and Ana drove the van.  The fact that Ana speaks English was appreciated by Eric, but more so by Greg, as he enjoyed the explanations of what was going on around, by a native of the area, but in English.  This was a treat that he was want to experience again, but would not.  Alas, the interpretation of much of the sights and sounds on this trip would only be experienced through my colored lenses.  Sorry, Greg.

It was still light out as we approached Valcarlos.  As a matter of fact, there was a large contingent of Valcarlians returning from mass in Roncesvalles.  They had held a special mass for Valcarlos that day, and the procession of people was winding its way back to town as we drove past.  Ana was able to honk at every other person, as Valcarlos is a town where “everybody knows your name”.  Eric and Greg would later catch the second clause of that, something of which I was already aware, which is “and they’re always glad you came”.  We were in for some classic Basque family hospitality.  Those who could walk to the Colegiata of Roncesvalles did so.  The older folks like Veronica and J.B. (my mother-in-law’s cousins) would drive.  Here is one part of the world where an SUV is both warranted and needed.  My kingdom for a Jeep dealership in Euskadi!!!

For dinner, we were served delicious soup (I’ll probably mention this again, and it will be just as true then: Nobody in Spain messes up soup.  They ALL know how to make it right!!!), meat and salad along with great bread, juice and wine.  Eric and I are teetotalers, and Greg declined “for now”, saying he would need to “earn the wine” with a good mountain climb.  He would get his wish in the morning.  Later on, Greg asked what the meat was.  J.B., with a mountain-man smile across his face, told us “conejo”.  Greg asked for the translation and I said, calmly. “What’s up, Doc?”  He couldn’t believe it, but admitted that rabbit tastes very good.  I speculated later that the rabbit was most likely caught in the garden, and was “local”.  Local rabbit makes good eatin’.

The family house is no younger than 200 years old, and most likely closer to 400.  It’s interesting to sleep in a house that is older than your native nation.  The house has oak timbered ceiling beams smattered between with white plaster.  It looks, feels and is typical, beautiful and has a charm that is second-to-none.  I love staying at that house, and the night of May 5, 2002 would mark my third night ever there.  Veronica and J.B. would make us feel like we were born and raised there.  They know how to make you feel like family from the get-go.

The one thing that all three of us noticed was the absence of light and noise at night.  The life that Veronica and J.B. live is a hard, physically demanding one, but the payouts of silent nights and beautiful views, at least to the outside visitor, are more than compensation.  As we ate dinner together I couldn’t help but think what J.B. said as I eyed his weathered, labor-weary hands: We have less to worry about here.  Life just moves at its pace.  I can only wish we all had a weekend here, far from the urban grind, to realize what is truly valuable in life.

May 6, 2002

Pamplona/Iruñea, Navarra

We hit the road at about 9:00 this morning with giddy anticipation (well, at least me…).  I felt like a kid who had been waiting for Christmas to arrive for months and I was heading down the stairs to open my presents since the long-awaited morning had finally arrived.  We said good-bye to the St. Estebans and made our way down the hill for the first few kilometers of our trip.  The downhill was nice, but would end up being short-lived once we embarked on the first major climb of the trek. 

We passed the local cemetery on the way down the hill.  The headstones are unique, and many are whitewashed with the information written on them with black paint.  There are some that denote that this cemetery is not only old, but the settlement itself has been around for many hundreds of years.  Many family members are laid to rest there so for me, it was worth a quick stop.  It always seems odd to me to say “oh, you have to see the cemetery”, but the fact remains that Valcarlos has an interesting little unique burial plot.

Our first stop was the ayuntamiento (city hall) in “downtown” Valcarlos (I haven’t checked, but I’m certain that the population of Valcarlos is no more than a few hundred.  There are many family homes in the area, complete with coats of arms over the doors.  Most of the homes in the town proper are whitewashed and quaint. The chapel is right on the main road through town.  Directly across the street is the city hall, where we would acquire our first pilgrims’ passport stamp of the Road.  According to our cousin Carolina, it is only fitting that we have our first stamp on the “real commencement of the Road to Santiago: Valcarlos”.  They are proud of this little village, and there is much of which to be proud.  Who wouldn’t want to live in a village where the pace of life is as you want it, people know you, look out for you and happiness abounds? 

We left Valcarlos behind and headed up a gentle rise towards what would become a brutal climb to the Ibañeta Pass (alt. 1057 m.).  We would start the day at less than 400 m. above sea level, and would climb the Ibañeta Pass in about 15 km.  The road to the top was marked by a constant sea of switchbacks that of course are designed to make the climb easier.  This is probably true if traveling by car, but to the novice cyclist, they can, and did, prove quite formidable.  I spent a fair amount of the climb out of the saddle…as in walking my bike.  As I write about the day from my bed in Pamplona, I’m very glad we made it to Pamplona, an outcome that was in doubt…  The road was very rough, and the Ibañeta pass was rainy, high and a sharp grade all the way.  Since of course we don’t know the way, I kept saying, “around this corner, it’s around this corner.  This is it.”  The very last few hundred meters to the top of Ibañeta are a straightaway shot, and you can see the little pilgrim’s church/refuge [Ermita de San Salvador] at the top of the hill.  It’s a nice goal, but one I wish I’d been able to see from a little further off.  I would’ve driven a little harder.  When I hit the straightaway, I knew that I was close.  That climb was amazingly difficult, but would be only the first of three tough ones today.  There is a monument to Roldán at the “hilltop” as well.  Of course this was the location of his ill-fated exchange with the Vasco-Navarros here.  His was the duty of commanding Charlemagne’s rear-guard, and his army and his own life were lost at the hands of the Navarros.

Greg proved to be the most Indurain-esque of all of us, as he never left his seat once.  Once at the top, we had a short 2 km. descent to the town of Orréaga/Roncesvalles.  This is the point of commencement for many pilgrims (St. Jean Pied-de-Port in France being another), and I understand why after climbing the pass.  We did enjoy a little downhill coast, but decided to pause at Roncesvalles for a short visit and tour.  We also would seal our credential here and register with the colegiata as pilgrims.  Each pilgrim is asked to declare the reason for the pilgrimage here, mostly for the records of the parish.  You are given three or four choices: religious, spiritual, “fun” [go figure] and “other”.  I checked spiritual and other.  Had I not climbed the Ibañeta to get to Roncesvalles, I might have also checked “fun”, but I was fast becoming aware that this wasn’t going to be all fun.  We worked hard to get to the top, and were ready for a good descent.

We toured Roncesvalles, having a local girl as our guide.  Her name was a very Basque Ainara.  I actually really like that name.  She is from Roncesvalles, and had a lot of insights into the two major attractions there:  The chapel of the Sancti Spiritus and the Church of the Royal Collegiate.  The Sancti Spiritus purports to contain some of the bones of the soldiers who were slain in this pass by Navarros angry at the pillaging and raping done by Charlemagne’s troops.  Here, the rear-guard of Charlemagne, led by Roland, was decimated by those Basques who despised the Franks and avenged their wrongdoings in 778.  The Chanson de Roland immortalizes this story.  This is the reason Valcarlos is called Valcarlos, too.  It truly is the Valley of Carlos (Charlemagne).  We decided to have lunch at the Restaurante Colegiata there.  Eric had been waiting for good arroz con leche, and wasn’t disappointed.  I ordered chicken and soup, and had natillas for dessert.  I hadn’t had natillas in a while, and boy did they taste good!  Greg opted for merluza (hake) and soup, along with natillas.

We left lunch behind and headed down the mountain towards Mezkiritz.  That drop today was the best!  We were easily topping 35 mph, on hairpin alpine turns.  It’s a good thing that traffic is sparse on this stretch, or it wouldn’t have been so enjoyable (we were using both lanes liberally).  We had a bit of a climb to that point, then a good downhill to the next little bump: Erro.  Over the course of about 25 km., we descended about 200 m., so it was fairly gradual.  We would continue this gradual descent to Zubiri. 

We stopped in Larrasoaña to make a phone call and ended up with quite the incident on our hands.  They stamped our passports in the pilgrim’s hospice and while we were there, a cyclotourist (not a pilgrim, as he was traveling east), from Colorado came in looking for an “etxea landa” or rural house at which to stay with his wife, as she was ill.  The man at the albergue explained (while I provided translation) where he could go.  We left about ten minutes after he did, and as we went towards Pamplona, we found him again, but a truck had just hit him!  His head hit the front quarter panel of the truck, and another passing cyclist (there are a million in Euskadi…they all watched Indurain, and want to “be like Mike” [Miguel]) had already contacted the Foral Police (as the Navarro police is called).  They ended up taking a statement.  We made sure he wasn’t going to die and then continued on to Pamplona.  On our approach to Pamplona, we got lost and asked about 100 people for directions.  We finally ended up at Maria Angeles Alzón’s house (my mother-in-law’s cousin) at about 8:00 p.m.  We showered up, threw a load of wash into the machine and headed over to Jesus and Ana’s house for dinner.  Ana is MªAngeles’ daughter.  They had quite the spread!  They had jamón Serrano, tortilla, chorizo, txistorra (Basque sausage!), bread, cheese, and turrón and fruit for dessert.  It was not only delicious, but filled us to the rim!  It was all very good, and Eric was already turned onto tortilla, so now Greg is hooked.  Jesus and Ana gave each of us a guidebook for the road.  Mine is in Spanish, as is Eric’s, and Greg’s is in English…we thought it only fair since he’s the only one of us who doesn’t hablar español. The book I have is spiralbound and has good profile maps as well as political maps of the road.  We’re looking forward to mixing a few of the flatter, middle stages to make up time.

May 7, 2002

Estella/Lizarra, Navarra

Today we left at about nine o’clock and ran two errands, first to the sports store for Greg’s sunglasses (why, I have no idea, as we haven’t seen the sun for a couple of days...) and then to change money.  I was a little intrigued, as I just assumed that all banks changed money.  Apparently they do not, and we were told by Banesto to go to the Banco Central Hispano.  Actually, Banesto changed cash, but only BCH did the traveler’s cheques.  We also squeezed in a trip to the cathedral in Pamplona, if only to get our credential stamped.  We finally hit the road at about 10:00 with our destination still a bit unsure.  It wasn’t really raining, which was nice, but it was humid, and you could feel the air as it was thick.

Following the trail to the outskirts of Pamplona wasn’t difficult, as the trail leads across town from the cathedral, through the ciudadela park and down the hill past the university (private).  Unfortunately we missed a very key turn at the last moment and ended up on a country road towards the town of Ezparza.  Oddly enough, not a soul actually lives in the town, even though there are easily thirty houses.  It was like a modern ghost town!  We eventually tracked down the lone human being in town and were able to ask directions of him.  He told us that there was an exit out the backside of town, but we ended up on a very unpaved road, which proved to be disastrous for me and my temporary lack of balance.  I noticed that the road ahead had a muddy, seemingly deep section and I decided that with full bags, I wouldn’t be able to go through, but would have to find a way around the sloppy section.  Unfortunately, I decided this as I was going through it and stopped right in the middle of it.  Not so bad, but I put my right foot down into the mud to stop, it got “suctioned” into the mud (remember the principal sneaking around outside Ferris Bueller’s house?) and when I lost my balance, I couldn’t pull it out, and I ended up tipping over into the mud.  My bags made a sploosh, and my hands were both caked in the brown goo.  Luckily, there was a freshwater stream nearby, and I was able to leave the clearing with only wet gear, not wet and muddy.

Since I was now the author of two unnecessary detours, when the next fork in the road came up for discussion, I bowed out of the meeting and consented to whatever the other two executives would decide to do.  I should have said something, as I wasn’t the only navigationally challenged individual today.  Eric led us down a road that dead-ended at a wheat field.  We could see the main road about a quarter-mile across the field, but the wheat was already no less than thigh-high.  I gathered all my powers of good judgment and told them to take a hike as I uttered the words “screw it, I’m going through the field” and took off towards a gas station in the distance.  I made it through about 80% of the field before the thick wheat got the best of me and I came to a standstill in a tractor rut.  We all eventually made it out alive, gassed up at the service station, and made our way up the Puerto del Perdón, which was our first major climb of the day.  It was a killer!  It didn’t rain on the way up, but thankfully we had the foresight to don the rain gear under the bridge at the top of the pass, as the rains would come, and wouldn’t let up until we arrived in Estella this evening.  [Actually they didn’t let up at all…we just didn’t have to ride in them once we arrived in Estella.]  We’ve had a number of big passes so far, and a few to come tomorrow, but we’ll press on. 

We’re in Estella tonight, and are staying at the Hotel Yerri. [Located at Avenida Yerri, 35.  The phone is 948-54-60-34 and the fax is 948-55-50-81.  They don’t have a website, but it is a very comfortable two-star hotel.  They provided us with garage space for our bicycles (there is a bike rack on the wall in the garage area)]. We wanted to dry off and sleep well, so opted for the hotel action.  I’m incredibly tired, but also incredible grateful to be here.  Now if I could just get the rain to stop so we can enjoy all of our trip! 

We had a great dinner tonight, but the interesting thing wasn’t the food.  After dinner, which we ate on the other side of town from the hotel [remember that it was raining], we needed to catch a taxi, which stop running in Estella at about 9:30.  It was already 9:20 when we were still paying the bill, and a man in a suit told us that he’d call for a taxi and take us to the taxi stop.  We had seen this gentleman in the restaurant, and since he was so well dressed and a little older-looking, we figured he owned the place.  This point was further driven home because of his selfless hospitality in walking us over personally to the taxi stop in the rain.  I asked him not if he was the owner, but how long he’d owned the restaurant, and his answer surprised me.  He wasn’t the owner, but a fellow client.  He’d just been going there a bit longer than we had…try thirty years.  What an amazingly gracious thing to do for us.  Even though Estella is small, we never really got our bearings, so his assistance was not only appreciated, but also greatly needed.  If anyone ever were to tell me that Spaniards are cold and unhelpful, I would laugh in their face, share this story and watch them eat their words!

May 8, 2002

Logroño, La Rioja

We started the day with the goal of reaching Santo Domingo de la Calzada.  The weather, which hasn’t really cooperated since Sunday, prevented us from going any further than Logroño.  Logroño is the capital of La Rioja, which to many is the wine-growing heartland of Iberia [don’t tell that to the Portuguese!].  The ride today was initially enjoyable, but was capped by a long climb in very wet and heavily trafficked conditions.  The approach to Logroño seems to also be the truck route.  With little shoulder to work with, we were fed a steady diet of road spray.  Thanks to all the truckers who did their best to keep me hydrated.  Actually, Greg made such good time on the climb, that he got too far ahead of us, got into Logroño, and almost lost us.  Eric and I stopped on the outskirts of Logroño at the first gas station we saw, which is where we usually all did the rendezvous.  Greg wasn’t there, so we got directions, braved the rain, and headed into town.  We went first for the pilgrim’s refuge, and lo and behold, there was Greg, sitting on a step eating some food.  We were very fortunate to find him, as his Spanish is about as good as my Swahili.  We had gotten into Logroño at about 1:40 p.m., and the albergue opened at 2:00.  We did wait in line to try to get a bed, but as we checked our records and saw the long line, we realized that since cyclists get last priority (actually second-to-the-last next to drivers), we would probably be waiting in vain, and would need to find a hotel.  We checked out about seven locations, and finally ended up at the Hotel Murrieta [see this link in English: http://www.pretur.es/en/index.html].  They graciously provided us with garage space for parking the bikes, and we made our way upstairs to get some laundry going sink-style and then get ready for some eating!  Eric split with us, as he wanted to hit an Internet café here.

Greg and I paired up and visited the old twelfth-century cathedral in town and then another old church, that of Santa Maria la Redonda.  The funny thing for me is that the most notable thing that caught my attention was not some beautiful masterpiece of religious iconography but the engraving on the outside wall of the church.  It was an homage to Franco and gloriously retold how the “defeaters of communism” were the nationalists.  I guess that he who wins the war writes the history.

Earlier, we had decided that since we haven’t made great time due to weather, conditioning, or whatever, that Eric and I would take a bus or taxi to Burgos, while Greg set out on his own to ride the distance.  He is definitely the strongest of the three of us physically.  I’ve since decided to suck it up and ride with Greg the entire distance to Burgos tomorrow.  I’m expecting adverse weather and some difficult times, but I’ve realized that I came here for the same reasons that Greg did: To ride every kilometer between Valcarlos and Santiago.  I remember reading another account written by a group of Spaniards that had ridden the Camino a few years ago.  In it, they said that the third day is decision day, and that if your mind isn’t made up, you can come up with a hundred excuses why you should quit.  Well, guess which day we’re on in Logroño?  I’ll ride with Greg tomorrow with Burgos as our goal.  I still may drop out, but I’m going to give it my all to try to complete the stage.  It’s been an extremely difficult challenge to ride to this point.  Everything we have is “empapado” or soaked.  I know that if things are wet tomorrow, I’m going to taxi/bus to Burgos.  After Burgos, things should level out, and we’ll probably go a bit faster.  At least that’s what we hope.  From Logroño, it’s going to be about seventy miles to Burgos.  If we can get the weather to cooperate, I think we can pull it off.

May 10, 2002 (a.m.)

Burgos (Burgos) Castilla y León

I was much too tired last night…exhausted actually…to write anything into this record.  We logged more than 110 kilometers from Logroño to Burgos yesterday.  As we left Logroño, it was pouring down rain, and the first order of the day was the uphill climb.  We hadn’t even reached the edge of town when I pulled into a service station and under the canopy, turned to Greg and said, “We need to seriously consider whether or not we’re going to do this.”  He said, simply, “I’m in.”  I replied, “That’s all I need to hear.  I’m in too.”  And away we went into the waterlogged morning.  Eric decided to drop the Camino yesterday and agreed to meet us in Burgos in front of the cathedral tonight at two-hour intervals, checking for us first at 5:00 p.m. More on that later...

We actually had to travel on the main freeway (the fast autopista where bicycles are strictly forbidden…sorry, Mom…) for the duration of our first climb this morning.  Our hands are constantly cold, even though they were dry.  At the top of the first climb, we stopped at the gas station to eat breakfast (magdalenas, bananas, fruit juice), and I stepped into the store and found gauntlet-length red rubber gloves.  I bought two pairs and the rest is history.  The Holy Order of the Red Glove was born, and we had dry hands (in spite of the cold) the remainder of the day.  That was the best use of the euro to date.  I recommend this purchase to anyone who is cycling the camino.  The dryness of the rubber gloves was infinitely more important to us than the warmth of a cycling glove.

It was still raining hard most of the day, and we followed the N-120 west towards Burgos.  This road would take us through some great towns that we would have neither the energy nor desire to stop in due to the weather.  Navarrete [http://www.valvanera.com/navarrete.htm] was first, and Nájera [http://www.aytonajera.es/] was next on the “sorry, we’ll have to stop next time” list.  Both cities have their enchantment and are loaded with sights worth seeing.  Unfortunately, these sights are best seen in sunnier conditions.  We did witness a great number of pilgrims sloshing through the red clay mud in this area.  I was wondering how many of them were about ready to get on the bus and call it a day.  A Danish pilgrim that we met at lunch in Santo Domingo de la Calzada would later remark to us that the worst part of that stretch for the walking pilgrim is that the clay sticks to your shoes in “two kilo” chunks, making it nearly impossible to walk without the added weight on your shoes, and making you exert much more energy, either in removing the clay from your shoes or from simply walking in spite of it.

The town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada was born because of the Camino.  The saint whose name the town bears cleared the surrounding forest in order to have a clear, safe passage for pilgrims in this area.  We stopped for lunch here at the pilgrims’ hospice.  It would’ve been so easy to just call it a day and stay here, but we had our goal and were going to achieve it.  We also traveled through Belorado and Villafranca Montes de Oca, where we planned on getting our credential stamped, but the church was closed [and it looked abandoned].  It was here that I realized that just about everyone along the road has a stamp of some sort.  We decided to stray from the walking path in town and take the N-120 out.  Near the edge of town (literally the penultimate house), we found a bar and stopped in for a direction check.  Guess where we got stamped in Villafranca Montes de Oca?  I was amazed, but felt that this wouldn’t be the last non-religious place where a stamp would be asked for, and received.

Villafranca Montes de Oca is the last town prior to beginning the ascent to the Pedraja Pass, which KILLED me.  It wasn’t much higher than the other passes so far, just much steeper.  I swear the little truck icon sign had a 15% grade on it.  I would’ve given my back tire for a 6% grade.  With each grind of my legs, I thought of just how comfortable Eric must be on that bus ride from Logroño.  He later told us at dinner that night that it only took one hour to travel by bus, but that smoking was allowed on the bus.

Eventually, as we always do, we made it to the summit and began our descent into Burgos.  Oh, sorry…we

only descended for about 200 meters, and then went back up again.  This came as no shock to me, since it seems that every climb is either followed by more climbing or just flat.  We can’t seem to find the backsides of any of these hills.  Well, we then started down a grade that would last for about twenty miles, and would see us average over 15 miles per hour.  That last portion was very agreeable, and let me tell you, we earned it!  Eric was checking the cathedral every two hours, but we showed at 8:45 p.m.  Our hotel room at the Mesón del Cid looked out onto the patio of the cathedral, so we just checked the window at 9:00 (as it is still very much daytime at that hour) and saw Eric looking for us.  We hollered down, and he came up.  We had a delicious dinner together in the Mesón del Cid’s dining room.  I had red beans, and entrecote of beef and a creamlike dessert that I think was crema a la Catalana.  They lit it on fire and then you chop around in it to put the fire out.  Greg ordered lamb and chorizo.  He said the lamb was superb.  Eric had already eaten, so ordered his favorite dessert: arroz con leche.  Upon returning to our room, we thankfully slammed our heads into our pillows and crashed.

May 10, 2002

Frómista (Palencia) Castilla y León

We didn’t set our alarm this morning and we were still up and ready to go by 8:00.  I couldn’t believe that since we were out past 11 last night eating and were so tired after doing more than 110 km. yesterday.  We hit the buffet breakfast at the Mesón del Cid Hotel, which was wonderful.  It included an assortment of rolls, cheese, jamones, chorizo, bread, hot cocoa and some really good local sausage.  Eric joined us, even though he was at another hotel nearer the bus station, and we ate our keep. 

After breakfast we decided to take a few hours and leisurely tour the cathedral, since it was about twenty meters from the hotel.  It’s an 11^th and 13^th-century behemoth that absolutely stuns the senses and takes your breath away.

  They’ve recently (since 1999) restored the exterior to its original brilliant light sandstone-like color.  The inside is still under “construction” as some chapel areas are cordoned off and are covered in cloth as the army of restorers works to renew the interior.  In spite of the labor of restoration in progress, there was still more than we could take in to see. 

One thing I hadn’t seen on two prior visits to the cathedral was the “cofre del Cid” or Cid’s chest.  I was reminded of the story from the Cantar del Mio Cid, which told of two chests of sand.  I don’t recall all the details, but the Cid wanted to get money to finance some sort of military operation and used two very ritzy-looking chests filled with sand as collateral.  Of course the two Jewish moneylenders weren’t told that they contained sand, but instead were told that they contained precious gems.  They were also sworn to not open the chests until the Cid returned.  Of course had they done so, they would have realized that they were being had.  Does the fact that the Cid cheated these two men make him an anti-Semite?   I guess we’ll never know.  We also visited the cloister museum and the chapel salon, which cost us 3.60 euros but was well worth it for the richness of the art collection housed therein.  After our visit to the cathedral and evirons, we packed up and headed out with our destination Frómista.

Our route took us away from the walking path for much of the trip.  We crossed it a number of times, but the first section today was a bit north of the walking road.  We did see signs all day for the Camino, though, as there is a “driving road”.  [What kind of a wussy…]  We stopped at a few little podunk towns along the way.  First on the list was Olmillos de Sasamón, and we got stamped at the local bar, since the city hall and church were closed.  We met a pork-product vendor at Olmillos who graciously invited us to some of his award-winning chorizo.  I think the best part about chorizo is not knowing what the hell is in it.  Of course the worst part about chorizo would be for someone to tell you.  We also went for a jamón ibérico sandwich (Which was also provided by the “doce productos” salesman…apparently he had twelve separate pork products that he peddled.  If the other ten were as good as the two he gave us, I should’ve bought stock…) .  We were enjoying our lunch and in popped a group of six definitely non-Spanish men.  They did speak Spanish (at least they had a spokesman like me), and in conversation, they told us they were Pakistani.  I went over to the Spanish-speaker and put my arm on his shoulder as I said “somos amigos”.  It’s strange that since September 11^th, we’re all a little more aware of those around us in the world and the relations we have with them.  I’ve already been asked three times about the “torres gemelas” or twin towers and what I think.  What can I say to that?  Oddly enough, or I guess predictably enough, after the Pakistani group left and had gone down the road in their van, the Spanish proprietor of the bar said to us “son primos de Osama.”  I’ve always had an opinion about how xenophobic the average campesino is, and this gentleman did nothing to change my thoughts on the matter.  I suppose that when you live in a fairly homogenous society, anything from the outside is uncommon and difficult to deal with.  Of course Spaniards did spend 800 years of their history engaged in what some historians term a holy war against Islam. 

Olmillos has a castle in town (15^th-century).  I climbed on top of it, as I like to do, and Greg snapped a picture.  I don’t know what it is about castles and me, but I love them.  They are by far my favorite thing about Spain (except maybe tortilla de patata).  I can only imagine life at a castle during its heyday.  I can also imagine things like being cold, damp, odorous, etc.  This trip so far has allowed me some penetrating insights into being each of those three things, like it or not.

The next town on the itinerary was Castrojeriz, which is the site of a Celtiberian settlement.  Archaeologists have estimated that the settlement was active as far back as 1500 B.C.  There is a castle in ruins on the highest bluff, and it is said that the settlement was used by the Romans to guard the road to the gold mines in Asturias.  We stamped our credentials at the pilgrim’s albergue and set out for Frómista.

The road today was mostly “flat” but had ups and downs.  The fact that we made a long ride, got in at a decent hour, and still had time to visit a number of small towns made this day one of my favorites so far.  The weather cooperated to the fullest extent.  Wispy clouds at worst, but plenty of sunshine for all to enjoy.  We’d been waiting for day like this, and we knew we were entitled after what we’ve been through up until now!  We arrived at the pilgrim’s albergue at about 7:00 p.m.  This is (finally) our first stay at a pilgrim’s albergue.  I’m very pleased to finally be “living the experience” of this, as it’s been hotels and family to this point.  The folks who run the albergue (locals) are here from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. every day.  I’m not sure they get paid either.  I wasn’t able to verify that fact with the gentleman who spoke to me.  I can only imagine how cold and lonely it must get out here in December in Palencia.

Dinner in Frómista consisted of the pilgrim’s menu of sopa castellana, a filete with patatas and helado.  Can I ever order anything other than Casera to drink with dinner?  For the non-alcohol-drinker, is there another option?  I love that stuff!  As I ordered Casera to drink, I overheard another Spaniard reply to my order by saying “if there isn’t any Casera, I’m leaving!”  I wanted to buy that man a…Casera!  That’s the attitude I can get in touch with!  We traveled about 45 miles today, which is less than the 70 yesterday, but since it didn’t rain at all, we enjoyed every one of them!

The Church of San Martin dominates the center of town.  This one dates back to 1066, and was commissioned by the wife of the Navarrese king Sancho el Mayor.  The floor plan is imitated throughout Castilla, and after a visit to the church, you can see why.  It’s simple, but complex; plain but intricate.  It is a total gem.

May 12, 2002

León (León) Castilla y León

You’ll notice that May 11 got omitted…well, we put in 77 miles yesterday and again, instead of fighting fatigue and sleep, I decided that there’d be time to write in the morning, so here I am.  I had no desire to write after getting back from dinner last night.  I only hope I can remember enough detail to make it interesting.

We stayed in the pilgrim’s hospice in Frómista, so were out the door at 8:00 a.m. as per the rules.  The road was fairly flat into Carrión de los Condes, so we made pretty good time.  We stamped our credentials at the Church of Sta. Maria del Camino.  The priest who received us was a stout gentleman who walked us back into his study and stamped our passports, then wished us a “buen camino”.  I wonder if any of these priests have other obligations that are sidetracked by the flow of pilgrims, and if they even care.  It seems like they’re happy to do what they do.  From Carrión de los Condes to Terradillos de los Templarios, rolling hills, with some welcome descents and some tough climbs, marked the terrain.  The sun was out, but not hot.  Nevertheless, it seemed that we would be battling the curse of the headwind all day long.  I think the road we were on crossed the Cueza River at least a dozen times.  I was sure that we would be following that thing all the way to Galicia…  We pedaled past a park and noticed that there were two walking pilgrims who were giving each other a needed leg massage.  I yelled out that I was on my way down, so to get ready!  That’s one thing that would be wonderful at the end of a long day in the saddle.  Well, that and a rear-end transplant.

One thing that so far really sticks out in my mind is that we’ve passed about a hundred towns that have “del camino” or “de la calzada” as part of their names.  These are towns that obviously owe their very existence to the Camino.  We stopped in Terradillos de los Templarios because I wanted that seal more than almost any other on my credential.  The trademark Knights Templar symbol of two knights on one mount was on the stamp that was given us by the albergue (this one is a private one).

We went next to Sahagún where we stopped for lunch.  This was originally to be our resting place for the night, but we looked at the map and assured ourselves that León was within our reach.  I had another “equilibrium moment” [see Pamplona] as I was trying to mount my trusty steed after lunch.  I did a nice barrel roll with a full twist on the pavement and hurt only my pride.  In my defense, lunch was a bit much.  We ate like pigs and the food kept coming.  The best part of all this is that I’m losing weight, regardless of what I’m eating.  I can see it now: “The Santiago Diet: 10,000 calories and 50 miles a day!”  We headed out of town, and after passing through Bercianos del Real Camino (what a shocker…another town with “del…camino” as part if its name), we decided a nice shortcut would be to take the actual walking road, which we’d been paralleling now for some time.  Note to self:  This is not a good idea when you’re doubling your distance and you’ve had an aggravating knee injury for a day or so.  The constant pounding of the gravel road just about did me in…and we had gotten to the point that there was no paved road in sight.  Nice timing on that one.  We were only on that portion of the road for about 6 km., but it was enough to convince me that we’d done well to stick to paved roads for the majority of the trip so far.  As we approached El Burgo Ranero, Greg had left Eric and I in the dust.  I thought for sure he’d stop at the albergue in town to wait for us, but he hadn’t.  Eric decided at this point that he’d be taking public transport into León.  We had already decided on, and called for reservations to, the Hotel Quindos, so we knew where we would meet.  Eric hasn’t had much luck on this trip, and my constant assurances that the road will “flatten out” are not working.  I’m starting to not believe them myself, but I made my decision in Logroño, and I’m going to do it.  At dinner in León we would find out that Eric paid 50 euros for a taxi to take him the few miles to León.  There was a train coming but he didn’t want to wait.

I caught up with Greg on the outskirts of El Burgo Ranero, and we pressed on towards our goal.  For the second time today we would see a cluster of homelike dwellings built into the sides of hills.  They have doors, brick façades and are covered with dirt that dissolves into the hillsides.  We can only speculate as to what they are, as there is never anyone around to answer our questions.  I’m guessing that they’re either storage areas for farmers or farmers’ sheds.  They could also simply be refuges for farmers caught in the elements during the day.  Much of the farmland is not centrally located, and the farmers must travel to get to it from the town wherein they live.

We had some fairly good riding into León, but with about 10 km left before town, we started to go up, and up, and up.  We just can’t buy a break.  I feel like that parent that tells their kid “when I was your age, I went to school barefoot in the snow, two miles uphill both ways”.  They must have grown up in Spain along the Camino de Santiago.  On our ascent into León, we passed an old man on his bike, making his way uphill.  After what seemed like 45 minutes, I checked my rear-view mirror (on my helmet…and it’s been indispensable on this trip…I highly recommend this purchase to any bike pilgrim!) and he was still there.  Of course he had about 120 pounds less of body weight and 25 pounds less gear on his bike, in addition to not having ridden in from Frómista, but still, the guy was easily in his sixties.  As I mentioned before, we were only concerned with getting into León before they gave our room away, as we had already reserved the room.  We got in exactly at 8:30, which was the time they had told us until which they would hold it. 

Eric had arrived at about 6:00, and was already showered and out and about.  We showered up and he ended up coming in just as we were ready to go.  We ate at the Hotel Quindos’ restaurant.  Oddly enough, with Greg and I splitting a double, the cost of the room each (30 euros) was the cost of each of our dinners.  After dinner, we made our way into the center of town to where the cathedral, the Palacio de los Guzmanes and the Casa de los Botines are located.  All three are close together, and are beautiful in their own way.  Nevertheless, the cathedral of León is the most stunning building we’ve yet seen along the Road.  There are easily 99 stained glass windows in this church, and it is incredibly beautiful. Each of those buildings at night, fully illuminated, was a sight to behold.

León is actually a very dirty city, but with a million things to see.  The narrow winding streets of the old quarter gave us a nice treat on Sunday morning as we searched around for a place to stamp our credential.  We ended up at the albergue in the Plaza del Grano where I had the opportunity to poke around an old Romanesque church (I believe it was called Sta. Maria del Camino, but that may not be correct).  I noticed some mason’s marks on the stones around one particular window’s arches.  They looked like a large “9” with an “11” inside the circle of the nine.  It was a little odd, and Greg said it was “prophetic”.  We snapped a few pictures, snapped a few more at the Hostal San Marcos (now a five-star Parador) and headed out of town for our day of riding which would take us to Astorga.  Eric abandoned the trek today, telling us he was going to stay in León that night and would meet us Monday evening in Ponferrada.  We would make the trek through León province with just two.

One the way to Astorga, there are basically two bigger cities worth the stop time.  We stamped our credential in both.  The first is Villandangos del Páramo, where we ate a delicious, albeit unorthodox lunch consisting of day-old bread, queso manchego, Pringles and juice.  Sometimes you just eat to fill space in your stomach.  The next stamp stop was Hospital de órbigo.  We had to search to find the albergue for the stamp, but eventually we found it (and some ice cream too).  One thing I’ve noticed is that everyone seems to have a stamp for pilgrims: Bars, restaurants, shops, kiosks, it doesn’t matter.  They all have one, and they all love to stamp!  We actually have one stamp that is nothing more than a bar’s name and address (Olmillos de Sasamón), but that works for us!

The road out of León is an uphill until you get to the outskirts, and is heavily trafficked.  Villandangos del Páramo isn’t far, and then the road to Hospital de órbigo is more or less flat.  We had a series of ups and downs all the way into Astorga.  The final few kilometers were a nice downhill coast, and then uphill the few final hundred meters into town.  It’s strange, but I never mind the rides uphill if we’re in town.  It’s almost like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel.  You know that the ride is almost over, and I could probably take a 45º incline at that point.  We got into Astorga at about 5:00 p.m. and checked into the albergue.  It looks like we’re staying in some sort of college-style dormitory.  The setup is compartmentalized dormitories of no fewer than eight beds in an alcove.  Our section had eight beds, others had up to twelve.  Ours was also closest to the bathrooms, but it didn’t matter since Greg brought enough earplugs to keep us all sleeping soundly for months.

Astorga has two monuments that to the one-night visitor stick out: 1) the cathedral, which we had the opportunity to visit and tour, and 2) the bishop’s palace, which was designed by Antonio Gaudí…need I say more.  Unfortunately, since we arrived on a Sunday, and have a rough day planned for tomorrow, we will not get to see the interior of the palace, as it is closed today.  I suppose I have to leave a few things for the next time I’m in Spain…

We had dinner at a restaurant just down the hill from the albergue.  We asked the keeper of the albergue where he thought we should eat, and he recommended it.  The food was very good, very inexpensive, and the waiter was quite cordial.  I later found out that he was a also very good friend of the man at the albergue.  There was a flyer on the bulletin board with the name of the restaurant, but I knew they were friends already.  As the waiter brought our bill, I told him how we’d ended up there, and he said, “Oh, you know so-and-so at the albergue!”  I related that story to the man at the albergue and he laughed.   

May 13, 2002

Ponferrada (León) Castilla y León

After a night at the albergue, we can always count on getting out a little earlier than normal, and this was no exception.  We were on the road before 8:00 a.m., and within ten minutes we’d passed all the foot pilgrims who we’d shared the evening with.  The initial segment of road was a mild downhill, but we knew that would change, as we could see mountains looming in the distance.  Remember that up until now, we hadn’t seen rain since Burgos.  We could also see that this would probably change too.  As we passed km. 8 from Astorga, we stayed on LE-142 all the way, even though after reviewing the map here in Ponferrada it shows we took a “long-cut”.  The rise would take us to Rabanal del Camino, the last of a number of very small towns along the way to Cruz de Ferro…which would be our toughest test yet.  We stopped in Rabanal for water and a meat empanada, the first one I’d had in fourteen years.  I knew from that simple meal that Galicia was getting close, and the influence of Galicia had already arrived.  Now it’s simply a matter of seeking out apple empanada and eating as much of it as possible.  I have the feeling that if I actually had my dream come true and moved to Spain to live, that within two years I’d become one of those guys you see on tabloid TV that has to be removed from his house via crane and ends up sweatin’ to the oldies with Richard Simmons.

From Rabanal del Camino it was mostly uphill to Foncebadón, which is so small it hardly qualifies for “town” status.  From there, we made our way up (and I do mean up) the windy (and windy…as in blowing air masses), narrow road to Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross).  The weather was still holding out at that point, but of course the further up you go, the more exposed you are, and the windier the weather gets.  I can only imagine the leathery skin the locals must have after living their lives here.  There were a couple of local people in addition to the two Belgian cars we saw, but we’re talking almost no population, even though there were a good number of homes in the two towns on the way up the hill.  The map only shows Foncebadón on the way up, but there are two other towns as well. 

At the top, at the Puerto de Foncebadón, there is a phone pole-like protrusion from what looks to be the largest, most eclectic collection of rocks ever assembled.  At the top of the protrusion, there is a simple iron cross, which gives the place its name of Cruz del Ferro.  Tradition holds that all pilgrims, no matter from whence they’ve come, have carried a rock with them.  It is here at Cruz de Ferro where they leave their rock, symbolizing either a load of sin or burden, or maybe perhaps something else.  After carrying it up the steep pass, any pilgrim would be happy to do away with whatever weight the rock happened to be.  I know I was.  There is a little piece of Valcarlos and also Falcon Heights, Minnesota at the top of the mountain now, and we left our imprint there.

As we descended about 1400 m., the clouds were looking pretty ominous and the wind started whipping hard!  We got our rain gear on and headed down the backside of Monte Irago.  We were making great speed down the hill (a nice 40 mph clip!) and catching hefty crosswinds.  The road is a two-lane passage, but narrow, and replete with 180º switchbacks.  On the way down, there is a little town tucked into the valley off to the left.  We took pictures, and later read that it is the town of Compludo, has a monastery, and is famous for the Roman forge that is there, and apparently is still operational.  We noticed it just because it looked so incredibly peaceful, and there was little wonder as to why those who settled there first did so.  It was a slice of heaven on earth.

We stopped at Acebo on the way down to stamp our passports, and the bar we went into looked like an alpine ski lodge.  It was full of pilgrims already, and it was only about noon.  As we left, and continued on the steep descent, the rain picked up in intensity and we got soaked.  We made it down the hill and stopped in this quaint little town at the bottom called Molinaseca.  It should have been Molinamojada that day.  We decided that this would be a good time to get in out of the elements and see if the rain would pass us by.  We were headed to Ponferrada, and would find out that we were a mere 6 km from our goal.

We sat down to a delicious lunch of freshly made bread, great cheese, jamón serrano, salchichón, chorizo and lomo.  Of course we washed it down with Casera.  By the time we got done eating lunch, the rain had passed and blue skies remained.  Our ride into Ponferrada was sunny and cool.  We actually ended up making great time overall thanks to the downhill at such high speeds.  We got into Ponferrada at about 3:00 p.m. after about four hours of actual biking (a total of 56 km today).

The most memorable moment from today had to be the recurring sounds of a cuckoo bird in the forests on the way up Monte Irago.  That, coupled with the breathtakingly stunning views at the top, made today one of the best to date.  We cold see for miles and miles in any direction from the top at Cruz de Ferro.  The downhills today were the best so far as well, rain or shine.  So now we’re in Ponferrada, the city of the ironclad bridge (hence the name from Latin: pons ferrata).  We’ll visit the 13^th-century castle built by the Knights Templar tomorrow.  It’s closed on Mondays.  The old quarter is notable, and I’ve observed that the locals have been both friendly and helpful.  Apparently there is a handful of people in the Bierzo region who feel that Ponferrada shouldn’t pertain to León, but rather Galicia.  We’ve noticed graffiti on the walls to that effect and I’ve read some other things in other places where that opinion has been voiced.  I’m sure that just like a number of other things, it’s a very vocal, and very small, minority.  We look forward to touring the castle tomorrow, and possibly making it up to O Cebreiro.  After Cruz de Ferro and Monte Irago today, I would love to wake up Wednesday morning knowing I have a downhill ahead of me instead of a big climb!  Besides, it looks like the weather will be great tomorrow, so we can ride until a later hour.  I think Greg will be up for it, but we’ll need to convince Eric!

May 14, 2002

O Cebreiro (Lugo) Galicia

Well, we got a call in our hotel room this morning fro Eric.  He was downstairs, and told me that he had a “bag of goodies” for us.  I told him that we already bought breakfast food last night, but that he should come on up.  When Eric came up, he had a bag with all of the waterproofing spray that he had purchased (seriously, he could’ve opened his own “Eric’s Impermeable Emporium” with all that stuff!).  He then proceeded to graciously tell us that he “was done” and that he would be bowing out of the pilgrimage effective immediately.  He was planning on going to Madrid today and then on to London to enjoy the rest of his vacation.  When he said he was out, I thought maybe he’d consider going to Santiago ahead of us, but as it turns out, he’s done for good, and that leaves Greg and I to finish the Camino.  The Holy Order of the Red Glove will take it from here!

We spent the morning poking around Ponferrada (there is a lot to see, but since we got in yesterday an saw most of it, we focused on the Templar’s castle).  We toured the castle that the Knights Templar constructed (c. 13^th century) and it was certainly impressive.  I had always heard stories about this place when I first came to Spain in 1988, but never made it this way, and never had occasion to stop in Ponferrada until now.  The castle overwhelms on the grounds of sheer dimensions.  It is 96 meters by 164 meters, or a bit over 16,000 square meters of space.  The castle is amazing, but I’m afraid that the pictures that I took won’t do it justice.  I can only think that my father would love to come here and would have loved to be with us today (except for the biking part).  My dad has always loved the castles of Spain, ever since he first saw them in person in 1992.

The climb up to O Cebreiro took us along the old N-VI route, even as the dense forest of concrete pylons that is the new A-6 autopista was a constant presence to our view.  As we left Villafranca del Bierzo, which had a nice castle (belonging to the Alvarez de Toledo family today, but built initially by the Pimentel family [who were renamed “los Marqueses de Villafranca” in 1486 by the crown]), we had a nice, light uphill where we were actually making good speed.  It hardly seemed like we were actually on a gradual incline.  I kept asking myself when the climb was going to get tougher.  I probably should’ve known by now to keep my mouth (and mind) shut…the tough stuff was to come.  The climb was fairly gradual like this up to Vega de Valcarce, then turned nasty.  Thankfully our concierge at the Hotel Madrid in Ponferrada warned us that there are three puertos before we make it across these mountains.  The first is Pedrafita do Cebreiro, and actually looks like the “top” of your climb.  The second, where we are tonight, is O Cebreiro, which is at 1300 m.  The third will be tomorrow, and is called Alto do Poio, just 9 km. from O Cebreiro.  I say thankfully, since we weren’t surprised then, as we entered Pedrafita, that we weren’t actually at the top, and that O Cebreiro was still 4.5 km further up the mountain.

We made Cebreiro and I have to say that my thesaurus (had I bought one and brought it along) would have been worn out as I sought adjectives to describe the awe-inspiring and humbling magnificence of this place.  It truly is one of the most beautiful and pristine places on earth.  I feel like I’m on top of the world!

We had dinner at the last house on the left, a family-looking inn that had long tables for family-style (and large pilgrim group) dining.  You know you’re just like family when the family dog comes trotting out of the kitchen during dinner.  I’m sure that OSHA would have shut this place down, but to us, it just added to its charm. Perhaps we Americans need to lighten up a bit.  The woman who waited on us was most likely the daughter of one of the older women who were working in the kitchen, preparing delicious food for our enjoyment.  This little town has apparently been inhabited for centuries (long before the 11^th-century Church of Santiago was built).  It really is a privileged location, so most likely was an original Celtic settlement.  The home style of this region is called a “palloza,” of which the distinguishing characteristic is the thatch roof.  We walked around the whole town in five minutes, and the largest building is the pilgrims’ albergue.  You can get a view of what the town looks like by seeing it through the eyes of TV Galicia’s webcam.  The camera points out the window of the albergue and refreshes about every 15 seconds.  The site is www.crtvg.es.  There are many language options.  Just click on the webcams and choose “O Cebreiro” under “tourist places”.  There is a phone booth right outside the front door of the albergue, which is ideal for calling your family and telling them to log onto the site and see you dance around like an idiot, or at least wave at seemingly nobody.

May 15, 2002

Palas de Rei (Lugo) Galicia

We did 100 kilometers today, and there are only 68.5 km left until Santiago.  We pushed hard today and made it into Palas do Rei by 5:30 p.m. we were on the road at about 8:30, so with stops, etc. I think we were on the saddle about seven hours.  I’ll need to check Greg’s bike computer for the accurate details on that.  Mine just tells me how far I’ve gone, how fast I’ve gone and what the average speed is.  Greg’s calculates your average distance to the sun divided by the circumference of your wheel and multiplies it by the calories you’ve burned.  It’s a wee bit more high-tech than mine.  By pushing on a bit harder today, we have two short days left before Santiago.  We’ll plan to bike about 53 km. tomorrow and then take the final short 15 km. on Friday morning.

The interesting points of the last few days have been some really great descents.  By 9:30 this morning, despite a ten-kilometer climb, we had already traveled about 30 km.  The drop into the Miño River valley, around the dam at Portomarín, was amazing.  The best part about all of this is the apparent lack of automobile traffic in this region.  I know there are people here, but they seemed to stay off the road while we were on it.  No complaints on that one.  We remember Logroño and the steady diet of road spray from those trucks!  We stopped in Portomarín for lunch.  This town has been completely rebuilt in the last 50 years due to the dam.  When the dammed the Miño, it slowly overtook the old location of town and submerged it.  The amazing story from all of this was that they took the stones from the church (San Soán or San Nicolao depending on who you ask), numbered them, and disassembled the church.  They reassembled the church higher up on the hillside, painstakingly, stone-by-stone.  The stones inside the church still bear the numbers on them.  They did this with most of the main monuments in town.  This makes for a steep climb now, but the view of the river below and the reservoir are breathtaking.  What makes the monument transfer more amazing is the large rosetón, or stained-glass window in the church of San Nicolao.  How they did all of that I don’t know, but they obviously took great care.

Along the way to Portomarín, we stopped at the monastery in Samos.  We noticed that, for the first time in a while, there was a monastery that looked to be 100% operational.  When we went inside to stamp our credential, one of the friars was helping another gentleman stamp what looked to be no less than about thirty passports.  He said that they were all for American tourists.  Cheaters.

Another interesting things is that obviously when you walk, there are times you could be walking for a few days with the same person or group of people.  This isn’t so common with us cycling pilgrims.  Nevertheless, yesterday we crossed paths with a Dutch gentleman on our ascent to O Cebreiro.  He rode with us for a while as we took turns passing one another.  I couldn’t believe that he was wearing a long-sleeve yellow plaid flannel, another long-sleeve tee shirt underneath and denim jeans…as he was riding in the sun all the way up the mountain.  We left him in Pedrafita do Cebreiro, which is technically the first town in Galicia (Lugo province).  The thing is, Cebreiro, with the pilgrims’ hospice, is about 4.5 km further up the mountain.  That’s where we spent the evening, as already commented…but I digress.  We had two climbs this morning, a near miss with a speeding motorist and a lunch break in Portomarín, and as we climb the hill towards Gonzar, about 6.5 km outside Portomarín, here comes the flying Dutchman!  He was heading towards Palas do Rei, too, so we ended up riding together for another stretch (about 10 km) until we let him go at a rest stop.  We actually at one point took a wrong turn and he followed us for about 2 km down a hill.  He wasn’t too happy when we discovered our tactical error (neither were we…adding two kilometers of climb stinks no matter how you slice it!), but as luck would have it, we both stopped at the same bar for refreshment when we got to the first town back on the trail.  The town is known as Ventas de Narón, and when I asked the personable woman behind the bar what the population was, she replied, “Today? 16.”  I bought the Dutchman his beer as a show of friendship and apology for the detour.  He was quite surprised and grateful.  The woman tending the bar was really sweet, and after ice cream and drinks for Greg and I, she broke out the Spanish tortilla.  Yea!!! 

She was the one who told us that Ventas is built on the site of an old Roman castro and at one point had over thirty households and about 200 people.  She told us that most of the people have left for the city, but that some have come back.  I liked her statement “en la ciudad no caben todos”.  Which means: “not everyone fits in the city”.  I wonder what those who stay behind think of those who leave, and even more about those who leave and come back.

The road from Ventas down almost to Palas do Rei was along the walking path, which in Galicia looks to have been paved over almost entirely.  In my estimation, the Galician government sees the pilgrimage route as a major cash cow, so has invested boatloads of money into making it enticing and making it work.  The two examples are the fact that the albergue in O Cebreiro was free, and the paved walking trail.  Of course you can make a donation at Cebreiro, but in all honesty, we forgot!  The proliferation of the “Camino de Santiago” signs is another example of the importance to the local economy.  They want to make sure you know you’re where you are.

Our descent into Palas was without incident, and we’ve rented a room for the night for 25 euros.  The one thing I’ve noticed is that we can easily find comfortable lodging, and the price for even a 3-star hotel hasn’t really passed $25 except for Burgos (Mesón del Cid), and we deserved a place like that after doing more than 70 miles!

Another item I’ve observed as we enjoyed a delicious dinner last night was that for 6-8 euros, we’ve been eating soup, meat and potatoes, salad, bread, etc.  Where can you get homemade meals for $6 in the States?  You can barely get a McCrappy Meal for that!  Tomorrow we’ll plan to ride to Arca, which is about 53.5 km from Palas.  From there, it will only be about 15 km to Santiago, which will put us in before most of the walkers and give us tons of time to explore the city.

May 16, 2002

Santiago de Compostela (A Coruña) Galicia

We pushed hard, and instead of a night in a refuge in Arca, we’re now staying at the Parador in Santiago de Compostela, which is the former royal hospital, commissioned for construction by Fernando and Isabel, the Reyes Católicos, in 1492.  The building is located to the left of the cathedral (as you look at it), so we couldn’t be any closer to the center of what we came to see here.

We left Palas at about 8:30 this morning and, honestly, the little towns between here and there just blended together.  The anxiety to reach Santiago took over and I don’t remember a whole lot up until we got into Lavacolla.  The road today was a continuous stretch of ups and downs (my guidebook calls this “toboggans”), but surprisingly I stayed in the saddle all day long (must have been adrenaline) and didn’t stop to walk my bike at all.  One thing that helps on climbs is knowing right away how long or short they are (usually evidenced by the upcoming two-lanes-merging-back-to-one sign), and that adrenaline rush of knowing that we’d be in Santiago this afternoon. When we saw the first kilometer sign, we both decided that Santiago was within our reach, and that we would call the Reyes Católicos and see if we could get a room for tonight as well as our original reservation for tomorrow.  If they had a room available, we would do it.  We called from Mélide and made the arrangements, so we decided to push it and enjoy some five-star R & R.

I don’t even remember most of the towns that we went through, but we did get our pilgrim’s passport stamped in Arzúa, which is 39 km outside Santiago.  Apparently this area was first settled by some displaced Basques, as the name denotes.  The book I have assures me that we passed through a number of other small towns…that explains the multi-colored blurs.  The only one I remember by name is Lavacolla, since the meaning of the town’s name: ‘Wash Your Genitals’ is unique.  As history reports, pilgrims used the river running through Lavacolla in times past to wash themselves prior to entering “the Holy City”.  Let’s just say that as we entered Lavacolla, history definitely did not repeat itself.  I did pay homage in my own way by taking a photo in front of the ‘Washyourgenitalville” sign, though.

After what looked to be two solid weeks of awful, rainy weather, we left the rain behind at Acebo (coming down the hill from Cruz del Ferro).  Ever since Ponferrada (where we lost a group member), we’ve had really good weather.  It’s been mostly sunny, and yesterday was by far the hottest day of the trip.  Today was cool with partly cloudy sunshine, even though regardless of the air temperature, on any climb you heat up.