BoomerBlix: Camino Series

Camino Series

11/30/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Learn from Fellow Travelers

Gabriel, the handsome young man, told me about the Parochial Albergue in Viana that was a former parish. For "donativo"--whatever you wanted to pay--there was a group meal and a mattress on the floor. AND a pilgrim blessing after the evening Mass! The couple in the foreground were from the Netherlands. Later, when asked why he was on the Camino, the husband gave a touching tribute to his wife: "She asked me to come, and I love her more than anything."

A journey is many things: an adventure, a new experience, a lesson, a passage. Certainly it is always unique to the traveler, even if you’re part of a couple or a group. If you go alone, maybe more so.

What makes it even more rich? Finding the people who are on the same path, walking the same direction, sharing the moment. People who point things out, make you think, or make you laugh. These are the folks who you remember years later and are so very thankful for.

Even before the Camino de Santiago, I have been blessed to meet like-minded companions. Ginna and David in Nice. John and Rhana in Florence. Ed and Carol in Turkey. Each one a treasure, all these years later. I’ve learned something from each of you. Thank you, dear friends.

Now let me introduce you to two people I met during my 500-mile pilgrimage. When you walk the Camino, people appear--and disappear--during the experience. Sometimes someone will pop into your day and tell you where the best albergue is; you’ll have a glass of wine or dinner with fascinating people who share a story that is exactly what you needed to hear; you may walk together until the next bar, and never see him again. Or you will meet several times over, weeks apart, in complete surprise.

Lesson One: You never know when it will be the last time you see someone

First came Kathy. I came to call her “Kathy the Hippie” in my head...because she was a total granola-organic-natural woman from Eugene, Oregon. She even dressed like a hippie! I saw her on the first day, the day of the climb over the Pyrenees. In fact, she stepped into a photo as I was trying to capture the sheep that were everywhere. I thought I was taking a picture of a pilgrim from behind, surrounded by the sheep. As I clicked, the pilgrim turned, and I got her face...pure excitement.

We both continued on, and I didn’t see her again. Until the next morning, when I couldn’t sleep and decided to start out early. I carried my belongings into the bathroom to get ready. She was already there, doing the same thing. We didn’t say anything to each other until we stepped out of the albergue at the same time. “Do you know which way to go?” she asked me. I pointed to the famous sign: Santiago de Compostela, 790 Km. and off we went. I took her photo by the sign. We walked the day together and got acquainted, stopping frequently so she could get fresh fruit. She was a bottomless pit when it came to fruit. Me, I wanted coffee, but Kathy didn’t drink caffeine.

Suzy and Kathy stopping for breakfast in Arcos.

Truthfully, mid-morning of the third day, I needed to part ways. For one thing, I walked a little bit faster than Kathy, and that wouldn’t do over the next five weeks. Second, she had taken a leave of absence as a kindergarten teacher...and she talked like one. Off I went, after my morning cafe con leche, thinking we wouldn’t see each other again. Not so. Over and over, I would turn a corner, enter the random cafe, take a new street--and there she’d be. After three or four times, I began to believe there was a reason we kept catching up. And...I began to be glad to see her.

I walked more with Kathy than anyone else. On the last day--the day that takes you into Santiago de Compostela--we planned to get up early and start. But she lagged and I went ahead. Of course, we met at a bar, but she couldn’t go on. Emotions and tears had overcome her and she wanted to stay back, alone. By this time, I was disappointed. She hadn’t brought a camera, and I was worried about who would take her picture when she got to the Cathedral square. But clearly she needed privacy, so I left. I would see her once again in Santiago. I had a book to give her, but didn’t have it with me. Since we had always managed to meet, I was sure I’d see her again. I carried that book for three more days...but she was gone. I would get an email in a couple of weeks, but our time together had ended.

Lesson Two: Gratitude for health and every day on earth

Leif and I met in a crowded tapas bar. We didn’t really “meet”...it was more like he helped me out by calling to the bartender to notice me. It was busy, and like most bars in Spain, with one person doing everything: pouring wine and beer; heating the tapas; making espresso; serving as cashier. I wanted a glass of wine and was standing patiently, as others were getting served. Finally, a tall man waved to the bartender and pointed to me. The bartender nodded and I got my wine. I thanked the man and went to the patio.

Later, it was time for the Menu del Dia. The man came over and asked if he could join me, since it was crowded and we were both alone. We introduced ourselves and decided on our dinner choices, and started to talk. Turns out that Leif--who was from Copenhagen, now living in Bayonne--had been a war journalist. He witnessed terrible things in Bosnia, brutal atrocities that he still dreamt about. Leif had just been diagnosed with Stage IV liver cancer. He was certain that the toxins of war, combined with the smoking and drinking to cope, had caused the cancer.

He was walking the Camino during the three weeks between chemo treatments. No real destination. “I just want to be in a positive place, and there is none better than this,” he told me. We talked about books, then got on the topic of Rumi. He had just finished a book about Rumi. Another pilgrim had left it behind a couple of days ago, and Leif picked it up. Did I want it? Truthfully, the last thing I was looking for was an extra pound to carry. But it seemed important that I accept the offer.

He dashed to his albergue and returned with the book. (“The Forty Rules of Love: A Novel of Rumi” if you’re interested) We had a great dinner and said good night. I would see him again the next day, when it started to rain and he ducked into the bar where I was trying to deal with a sudden hamburger craving. He sat again and we chatted. He’s a man in his early 60’s who looks robust, but was having a hard time with the fatigue of chemotherapy. He wasn’t sure how much further he could walk, but he was grateful that he had come. “I’ve had a good life,” he told me. “I’ve wasted days, but now I know how precious they are.”

Sadly, I don't have a picture of Leif. But this is Casa de Comidas, the bar in Navarette where we met and where he left me with a heavy book that I didn't really want to carry. But I did...

We finished our ho-hum burgers, and parted at the door. A quick good-bye as we pulled up our hoods and went into the rain. I don't have a photo of him, but I do have one of the bar in Navarette where we met. I think of Leif often, hoping he received a Camino miracle.

The book I carried for Kathy? It was the one from Leif. The lesson? We are all connected.

Nov 30, 2014 3:30:00 AM | Camino Series, Travel

11/23/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Attitude of Gratitude

Full Moon in Puente La Reina: Inspires an attitude of gratitude!

When you walk for 500 miles, your life is temporarily housed in a backpack; you don't need much money; and your only job is to cover a reasonable distance that day and find a bed.

You end up with lots of time to think.

During my 38 days on the Camino de Santiago, I mostly walked alone, by preference. I loved starting out early so I could have the night sky to myself; it was completely dark and I could see stars all the way to the horizon. The Milky Way was straight overhead. There were two glorious full moons during my pilgrimage. Because the route is always westward, the moon pulled me towards her each day. She gave enough light to leave shadows. It was peaceful before sunrise, the perfect way to start a fresh morning. And give thanks.

Spectacular sunrise…pilgrims must turn around to see it each morning. We were always walking westward towards Santiago de Compostela.

I'm not going to get into the details of how anyone should give thanks or to whom or what the thanks should be directed. You all have your individual beliefs and methods, which I totally respect. I'll just tell you what worked for me. I started out with a review of the previous day and, sure enough, there was plenty to be grateful for: the delivery man who chased after me at 6 a.m. to return the wet sock that had become untied and fallen off my backpack; the time I thought I'd left my iPhone charger behind, and was rescued by Mary, who lent me hers; then finding the charger; getting the last lower bunk; the two fishermen who turned me around the day I had taken a wrong turn.

There is always something to be grateful for. Every. Single. Day. As I walked, I remembered my Gratitude Journals. I hadn't thought of them in years...about twenty years, to be exact.

On the Meseta, with just-harvested wheat fields on both sides. Grateful for a flat path…and the chance to be alone so I could reflect.

In my early 40's, everything went wrong, all at once. I became divorced, got a mortgage, bought a house with a killer yard, seriously teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, changed jobs, took a second job, worked 80 hours a week because I refused to let my credit rating drop, fed the kids, and struggled to hold everything together. I don't recall how I learned about Gratitude Journals. Maybe even from Oprah, because I was still an Oprah fan back then. It doesn't really matter. The universe delivers what we need, when we need it.

It's simple enough. Everyday, you write a page on something you're thankful for. The idea is to remind us that no matter what, there is always, always a reason to be grateful. So, I went out and bought my first journal. I picked a small size, thinking I wouldn't have to write so much. I wrote in the mornings (still do) before the day got busy. And I made one rule for myself: No repeats. Ever. Each day had to be something different.

In the beginning, I did the usual: grateful for my children, my health, my job, a car that started. Food, heat, water, a lawn mower that started. You get the idea. That lasts for about a month. I ran out of the obvious, so I had to start to pay attention to the subtle. Then came the good stuff. Forced to find something new, I'd go through the day, noticing. I'd choose one thing that had made an impression, and save it to record the next morning.

I did it for a thousand days.

Here's the miracle: At some point, I became authentically Grateful. All day, I would register what was good. And there is so much good! After three years, I stopped the Journal, because I didn't need to write it all down anymore. I could recognize something, acknowledge it, and be glad to have witnessed one more reason to be thankful.

I tell you all of this because travel takes us to a different place, with a different ability to see our lives. It can be surprising to spend time alone and rediscover ourselves. It may sound corny, but I really did return with an attitude of gratitude.

Grateful for the cairns that helped guide us. In the absence of yellow arrows, someone would make a cairn to point the way. Pilgrims who went before me took time to build these little works of art for those who followed.
I added a few stones along the way, too.

Nov 23, 2014 6:13:27 AM | Camino Series, Life Events, Travel

11/16/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Simple Food Is Comfort Food

One of the best parts about travel is being able to try the same foods that the local people eat everyday. Not that three-star Michelin restaurants aren't downright heavenly; it's that they aren't realistic or--let's face it--affordable. I've just always been a fan of "bonne femme" cooking, which means simple and honest food. (Bonne femme loosely translates to "housewife," but in a good way.)

As I set out to literally eat my way across Spain as I walked the 500-mile Camino de Santiago, I most looked forward to the food in the little cafes; the unfussy restaurants; and the daily Pilgrim Menu, made from what was local and affordable.

I offer three of my favorites today. Just like our spaghetti sauce, meat loaf, and turkey dressing, each home and establishment has its own version. Which means each food is totally adaptable. It was fun to order the same thing in different places, just to see how Spanish kitchens matched the food to the local palates.

First up: The Spanish Tortilla (Tortilla Espanola)

I can't pass up a slice of tortilla. Each bar has one or two fresh each morning, bonne femme syle. Completely homemade and clearly the family favorite of the person who made it. (Probably the barkeeper's wife, since she's usually in the tiny kitchen preparing all the food. But I don't like to make sweeping generalizations.) Tortilla is a potato and egg pie. Delicious, filling, and sturdy. You can wrap it up and plunk it in your backpack for a snack. With a cafe con leche, it's a power breakfast. It's an on-the-go lunch. By afternoons, many places have sold out, but if not, it is a nutritious way to fill up before the late dinner.

Spanish Tortilla--The All-Day Comfort Food

Here's the recipe, courtesy of Food Network. The only glaring thing I see here is the parsley for garnish. That's just silly.

Ingredients:
1/2 cup olive oil
4 large Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced about 1/8-inch thick
1/2 large yellow onion, chopped
6 large eggs
1/4 cup milk
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Chopped flat-leaf parsley, for garnishing

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Heat the olive oil in a 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat for 1 minute. Reduce the heat to medium and add the potato slices a few at a time so they don't stick together. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are tender and the onions are golden but not brown, about 10 minutes. Place a strainer over a bowl in your sink and transfer the potatoes and onions to drain; reserve the oil.

Whisk the eggs, milk, salt and pepper together in a large bowl. Drain excess oil off of the potato mixture. Add the potatoes and onions to the egg mixture and combine until they are completely mixed in. Set the bowl aside for about 15 minutes to let the potatoes release some of their starches into the eggs.

Heat 3 tablespoons of the reserved olive oil in a medium nonstick skillet over medium-high for 1 minute. Add the egg-potato mixture, rotating the skillet in a circular motion to distribute it evenly. Lower the heat to medium-low and shake the pan a few times to prevent sticking (by shaking the pan, you ensure that the eggs and potatoes release from the pan bottom). Cook the tortilla for about 5 minutes or until the potatoes on the bottom start to turn golden brown. Place the skillet in the oven and cook for 6 to 8 minutes, or until almost set. Remove from the oven and place a large flat plate on top of the skillet and invert the skillet. The tortilla should come right out. Add a tablespoon of the reserved olive oil to the skillet and slide the tortilla back in to cook the other side until it is golden-brown, about 5 minutes.

Turn the heat off and set the skillet aside until the tortilla cools to room temperature. Transfer the tortilla to a plate sprinkle with parsley and serve at room temperature cut into triangles or squares.

Next: Patatas Bravas

On every single tapas menu, and available in nearly every single bar, Patatas Bravas is the Spanish equivalent of American Buffalo Wings. Bravas means "fierce" and these potatoes can be as spicy as you want by adding Tabasco sauce. It all starts with cubed potatoes--of course, the tastiest ones are fried. From my experience, though, roasted is fine. It's all about the sauce.

Patatas Bravas-Go Bold or Go Home

My favorite Patatas Bravas (above) had two sauces: the fiery red tomato sauce and the smooth aioli. It was a big serving...I polished it off with no hesitation.

The closest recipe I can find comes from Allrecipes:

Ingredients:
2 russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
2 cups olive oil
1 tablespoon salt
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
1 teaspoon salt
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 red chile, minced
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 (14 ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes, drained
1/4 cup mayonnaise (or make the aioli that follows...)

Directions:
Combine potatoes, 2 cups olive oil, and 3 teaspoons salt in a large cold skillet. Heat on low and cook until potatoes are softened, 12 to 15 minutes. Increase heat to high and fry until golden, 5 to 6 minutes. Drain on paper towels.

Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Cook and stir onion with 1 teaspoon salt in the hot oil until onion has softened, 3 to 4 minutes. Add garlic, chile, and smoked paprika; simmer for 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in tomatoes and return to a simmer. Transfer tomato mixture to a blender, cover, and puree until tomato sauce is smooth.

Serve patatas bravas with tomato puree and and mayonnaise for dipping.

Simple Aioli Sauce:
6 cloves garlic finely grated
1 egg yolk
2 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/2 cup olive oil

Third: Caldo Gallego Soup

Talk about a Warm-You-Up soup! The Galicia region of Spain is cool and wet. Lots of mist and rain, so there's a lingering dampness that seeps into your bones. Galicians figured out a few centuries ago how to warm up from the inside out. Caldo Gallego is on every menu...and is deliciously different at each place, even with the same basic ingredients. You can make this quickly and enjoy it for a few days.

Caldo Gallega: Spanish Soup for the Soul

I made this without a recipe when I came back from the Camino, based on my memory--it was the first thing I cooked. I used chicken broth...only to find out when I did a recipe search that most Caldo Gallega recipes use a ham bone or pieces of sausage. I never encountered that--I thought it was a meatless soup!--so I'm sticking with my version. My favorite one boiled the potatoes until they were mushy and dissolving into the broth. Again, your call. P.S. I used canned beans.

Here's a fancy recipe from Dean & Deluca, using sausage and kale. (Spanish chorizo tastes like pepperoni to me. Very different from Mexican chorizo.)

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound chorizo, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1 medium onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, minced
10 ounces dried Calypso beans or other white beans
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried rosemary
8 black peppercorns
2 cloves
6 ounces salt pork (cut in 1/4-inch cubes) or a ham bone
2 quarts hot water
2 cups diced potatoes (cut into h-inch dice)
2 cups kale, chopped (collard greens can be substituted)
salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Place olive oil in a large, heavy soup pot over moderate heat. Add the chorizo and cook for 2 minutes. Remove chorizo with a slotted spoon and reserve.
2. Add the onion and garlic to the pot. Cook until the onion begins to brown, about 7 minutes. Add the beans, herbs and spices, salt pork (or ham bone), and water. Increase heat, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 1 1/2 hours. check the pot occasionally to stir and skim off any foam that may float on the surface.
3. Add the potatoes and the reserved chorizo. Cook for another hour, partially covered. Add kale and cook for another hour, uncovered, stirring thoroughly every 15 minutes. (By now, the soup should be quite thick) Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Let's wrap things up for today. One final "comfort food" that I found one day at a tiny grocery store. It was perfect with my coffee as I sat in the shade and felt completely content:

Nov 16, 2014 7:01:10 AM | Camino Series, Food and Drink

11/09/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: It's All About the People, People!

Would you let this guy recommend wine for you? I did--got the best of the entire Camino. It cost a whopping 3 Euros a glass. If you can ever find it, get a case!

Perhaps the most exciting thing about travel is the chance to meet people. Fellow travelers, sure--that's another Blix. But it's the local people who take a moment to reach out that create the best memories. While walking, we savored those moments when a little old man, wearing a Mr. Rogers cardigan and walking his dog, said, "Buen Camino." Suddenly, you feel as if you matter. You stand a little taller and pick up your pace.

Spending time--even a few minutes--with a local citizen was the highlight of my day. There was no language barrier because I simply couldn't understand most of people who were speaking with such excitement and sincerity. They didn't seem to notice; I smiled and nodded, tossing in the occasional, "Si, si." The fact that I was the zillionth pilgrim they had encountered didn't seem to matter; they made me feel like the first.

With their permission, I have photos to share. Come meet the delightful people of Spain:

Chef at Casa Magica, Villatuerta

Let's start with food, shall we? Meet the man who prepared an amazing Pilgrim Menu early in my walk. A Pigrim Menu is a three-course meal, costing 8-12 Euros. Includes bread, wine, and water. Sometimes there is a choice for all courses, sometimes just the second (main) course. Sometimes you can ask for coffee instead of postre, or dessert.

As you may know, the Spanish eat very late dinners, not before 9 pm. Because pilgrims simply can't stay awake that long, the Pilgrim Menu is offered at 7-7:30 pm. That doesn't mean the noise of the happy diners outside your albergue window won't keep you awake, but at least you won't be hungry.

"My" chef must have known I was coming, because he arranged to have this dinner waiting:
Lobster potato salad
Broccoli/Spinach cream soup
Braised beef and mushrooms
Warm pastry filled with custard
Red wine...as much as I wanted
Bread, the crusty country kind

I had to thank him with my firm grasp of Spanish: "Delicioso! Gracias!" He agreed to let me take his photo. His food remains among the most memorable of the entire Camino.

Driver at the Elvis Ba

Bar Elvis

You don't have to know a language to joke around. One morning I came upon the Bar Elvis. I knew it was on the Camino, but had no idea when it would crop up. Answer: Religios. The morning light was perfect for a photo. A car approached and I stepped out of the way to let it pass before taking the shot. The car stopped. I waited. The car remained still. I waited. Finally, I waved the driver on, pointing to the building. The car approached and the driver rolled down his window. He laughed and asked--I'm pretty sure--if I didn't want to include a handsome Spanish man in the shot! Why not?...so he posed while I took his photo. He wished me a "Buen Camino" and drove away.

The Orange Juice Entrepreneur

Imagine walking through the hills on a warm, sunny day. There's not going to be a bar for many more kilometers. Then, you come over a ridge, make the bend, and wow! You meet this beaming woman offering fresh zumo de naranja for one Euro. The young man in front of me passed her up, but I came to a screeching halt! Who could resist her smile?

As I drank my delicious juice from a real glass, rinsed out in a cement trough across the way (that's what Hepatitis A shots are for) we chatted. She also had a tiny stand with bottled water, fruit, and the ever-present Kit-Kat bars. Since she had clearly set up business in the middle of nowhere, I wondered how she transported everything. "In my wheelbarrow!" she said. "Everyday I fill it up and come here." When I asked if I could take her picture, she smiled. "I used to be very shy, but now I am happy to talk."

Another day, while trying to determine if I was going the right way (I hadn't seen a yellow arrow in awhile) I met another woman, Luz Maria, who was checking her Michelin guidebook for the same reason. We convinced each other that we were probably okay (we were) and started to walk together. Luz Maria was born in Mexico, but has lived in Canada for thirty years, working for the Mexican government. The morning passed quickly as we walked and shared our experiences.

Walking through the small village of San Nicolas de Flue, we saw an old woman hauling two big buckets of something very heavy. She put them down and Luz Maria asked her about them. They were full of walnuts and hazelnuts, the woman explained. Did we want to see how to open them? Of course! They chatted away in Spanish as I tagged along. The woman's name was Alicia, and the nuts were from her grove. She cracks them open and sells them to get money for her son, who is a ski instructor. She gestured for us to follow her into her yard and to an open shed. She gave us each a huge bag of nuts and demonstrated how to crack the shells with a rock. Such enthusiasm! She was beautiful, and I asked Liz Maria to tell her so. I also asked for a photo of this vibrant woman. "Oh, she wants a picture of Alicia from Spain!" laughed Alicia as she stood next to Luz Maria. With many, many thanks--and heavier backpacks--we moved back to the road. What a day!

Alicia and Luz Maria

With nut harvest in full swing, it was only another day before I encountered an elderly man selling his shelled walnuts. I probably wouldn't have noticed him, because he was standing quietly on the side of the road with a big plastic bag at his feet. Another pilgrim was talking to him, and called, "Hey! This man is selling fresh walnuts!" Since I'd left the bag of nuts that Alicia gave me at the albergue in Ponferrada (too heavy to carry, too tired to shell), I was keen to buy some.

This man was adorable. Sparkling eyes, baseball cap, wearing the standard plaid shirt and cardigan sweater that all Spanish gentlemen seem to love. He could have sold me anything. He's holding a sawed-off can; for one Euro, you get a scoop of walnuts. He was so cute, I bought two scoops, and told the upcoming pilgrims about him.

Man Selling Walnuts

I could go on. Every day was full of friendly people who were happy to talk, even if I didn't understand a thing they were saying. They were polite and helpful. Once, two men in a coffee shop banged on the window and pointed me in the correct direction. Another time, a woman with a baby in a stroller gestured me to follow her, as she turned the stroller around and got me to the next yellow arrow. A young man with a pretty girl on his lap yelled "Buen Camino!"

These magnificent Spaniards are part of my Camino memories. They made every day special. Some even asked to have a photo with me! I guess it goes both ways.

Wine Guy and Me

Nov 9, 2014 7:18:25 AM | Camino Series, Travel

11/02/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: It's Not A Race

Day 1: Climbing the Pyrenees. The white spots are sheep. It would take me almost nine hours to get up and down the mountain pass.

Walk the Camino de Santiago and you will come away with lessons. In fact, the Camino refuses to let you be a slackass about learning. It actually gets to be interesting. Okay, what will you teach me today, Camino?

Consider the experience to be a life-in-miniature, start to finish. The conception and birth of your Camino plan. The childhood of learning to take care of oneself; the sweet freedom of adolescence; the importance of discipline in adulthood; the wisdom and satisfaction of perseverance that come with maturity. The bittersweet ending. The memories of what was.

Today I write about two obvious lessons, delivered by a slow awakening...the “aha” moments.

Day 1: Already making progress! It was a hot, hair-plastering day. What I notice about this photo: how bright my shirt is! By the end--38 days later--it would be a paler "pilgrim" orange. And my water would not be in such an inaccessible place. Another lesson!

Lesson One: Step by step.

Google a map of the Camino Frances, all 500 miles. A pilgrim’s only job is to manage a dozen or so miles each day. Even knowing that, I had a hard time believing that all those small segments would actually add up and move me across a country. But they did. And about the time you feel like you’re really getting the hang of this pilgrim thing, it’s over.

Out the door of the albergue in the morning, with nothing more planned than the day’s proposed itinerary. Sometimes it was easy: A good night’s sleep, an anticipated landmark, or a cool breeze was enough to set the day in motion. Sometimes it was tougher: A touch of tendonitis, a weather forecast of over 90 degrees, another day of climbing...which always meant another day of wicked downhills. I never wanted to quit, but there was a serious string of days in the first couple of weeks when I honestly wondered why I ever thought the Camino was a good idea. It was harder than I expected, my knees hurt from the descents, and walking in the rain was not romantic.

But just like real life, there isn’t a choice. No opting out. The only direction is forward, and we must make the best of it. Great days. Days to simply endure. Horrendous days. The sweat from heat or from wearing a poncho. Fatigue and boredom. Then...sunshine again. A rainbow. Pure contentment. Always, the question of purpose. Always.

The surprise and beauty of rainbows after a storm. If we look, sometimes a double rainbow is our reward for walking in the rain.

It's the same for all of us--only without the backpack. A week flies by, then a month. Another round of holidays, and it’s time for New Year’s resolutions. School, job, family. We finally start to get the rhythm of being a productive adult. Then, wham! We’re facing retirement and a new identity. How did that happen?? Day by day, steadfast readers. Step by step.

An "easy" descent. Lots of rocks and furrows, which always require attention and put stress on the knees. But the view ahead? Pure motivation!

Lesson Two: Someone is always ahead of you and someone else is always coming up from behind.

At first, I would be discouraged by the tiny figures of pilgrims who were ahead of me. Sure, the younger folks could move like gazelles, but how did that couple from France get way up there? They were still sleeping when I left. For awhile, I wouldn’t look ahead; some people were so far in front of me. It was going to take me forever to make it to the top of that hill. It felt a bit like failure. I was a bad pilgrim.

Then, slowly--aha!--it didn’t matter. I would get there, too. And those who were following me would see me at the top of the hill...and know that their turn was coming. We were just moving at our own pace. Some like to dash ahead, some like to stop often for breaks or to take photos. Some like to just sit, eyes closed. Each of us was different, spending our day as we should, and as we wished. Most of us would end up in the same town that night, and nearly all of us would arrive at Santiago de Compostela within a few days of each other.

So. The lesson? There will ALWAYS be someone who seems to be sailing ahead, while another plods along behind the pack. A thousand reasons why, but none really matter. It's organic, always changing. We will all end up in the same place. And hopefully, we are pleased with our journey.

Day 38…Step by step

That's how humanity moves. In a line. Generations, always some ahead, and some still starting out. We will travel the same path called life, but in different ways. Different tempos. Different timeframes. Same twenty-fours hours, differently spent.

It's your life. Your pilrimage. It's not a race.

The line of pilgrims at the Peregrino Office, waiting to register for their official Compostela. Some walked, some rode bikes. Each has a unique reason for the pilgrimage, time spent, as well as experience.

Nov 2, 2014 8:26:44 AM | Camino Series, Life Events, Travel

10/29/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Food and Water

Cafe con Leche: Sugar, fat, and caffeine. Perfect energy combination!
Order a "grande"...it's six ounces instead of four.

At the risk of seeming idiotic--and there is no way I won't--I was reminded of a few basic nutrition principles during my 500-mile walk on the Camino de Santiago. Things that I've known forever--but seem to have tossed aside. They got lost in the shuffle of the daily world. At first I hesitated about writing them in a Blix. But then, I thought to myself, Hey! These are my steadfast readers! They won't ridicule me! So, here goes...don't laugh.

Like many people, I'm always wishing I could drop a few pounds. My diet is pretty sensible, but not perfect. I could certainly move around more--and more often. Do the boring stuff that becomes important as we get older: strength training, stretching. You know what I'm talking about.

Then, at some point in 2013, I decided that it would be swell to walk the Camino in my 65th year. I'm certainly not young, but neither am I decrepit. Maybe the first few days would be rough--all the guidebooks agree on this--but after that, how tough could it be? With a minimal bit of information, a certain level of denial, and a memory of a friend telling about it ten years prior, I proceeded to plan. I didn't particularly worry about my weight; in fact, since my backpack was supposed to be only 10% of my weight, I indulged in extra calories. (Totally irrational. Highly unrecommended.)

Skip ahead a year, and I was a full-fledged pilgrim. Trekking along, day after day. After 12 or more miles a day, hauling almost twenty pounds, you'd think I'd be starving. But I wasn't. After a couple of weeks, a few things dawned on me:

1. Water tastes good. We all know that water is good for us, but how often do we take a gulp and say, "Ahhhhhh!" Most days, our water comes in disguises: coffee, tea, sodas, etc. Even plain water needs to be fancied up: little packets of flavoring, fruity tastes or crazy enhancers. It's as if we can't bear to drink anything simple. I understand that tap water may have unpleasant minerals or whatever, but that's not what I'm talking about; there are remedies for that. I'm referring to the taste of ordinary water with nothing added.

Without the option of jazzing up the water that came straight from the public fountains in Spain, I started to taste the water. It was so...tasteless! (Maybe taste-free is a better description.) Thirst-quenching! Refreshing! I looked forward to drinking it, thirsty or not. One day, a man from Australia said, "I didn't know how much I liked water!" Well said, Mate.

This isn't to say that water can't have a slice of lemon or lime. But does it really need to have a powdery mix in order to be swallowed?

2. Eat when you're hungry. Yes, I know. Another brilliant insight. Except that if I had actually been doing that before--instead of eating according to the time of day--I wouldn't be clicking on the latest weight loss stories that crop up on my computer screen.

Most days I walked a couple of hours before stopping for some kind of breakfast. As I passed the bar in a village, I'd ask myself if I was hungry yet. No? Keep going. Yes? Stop. The food in Spain is delicious, and it's not hard to find. So scarcity isn't an issue. After a few days on the Camino, I would decide just how much I really felt like eating. Tostada, which was a lovely big piece of toasted bread, served with butter and jam? Maybe fried eggs, always fresh, with bright orange yolks? A banana? Or just a cafe con leche for the moment? Every day was different.

More fresh fruit than I usually eat, picked up at the little markets along the way. When I took time to enjoy a peach while I walked, it was fully satisfying. I didn't feel like scrounging around for something "more." At the same time, on days when I needed energy, I bought what seems to be Spain's favorite candy, a Kit-Kat bar.

For dinner? A Pilgrim's Menu, which includes three smallish courses. Or a big salad, sort of like a chef's salad, if I happened to be craving greens. Maybe a pizza, although they were always disappointing, and each time I swore I would never have another one. Some wine. More water. That's it.

I know my activity schedule and daily calorie-burn were not comparable to the "real" world, but I did stop to evaluate how hungry I was, and listened to my body. That, I can do anywhere.

A regular-sized apple and a bottle of Coke. No Big Gulps!

3. Portion control, People! Sure, almost everything came with fries. But not a lot of fries. The three courses of the Menu del Dia (Pilgrim's Menu) provided a substantial meal. First course: Choice of salad, soup, pasta, or a local specialty. Second course: meat, fish, or stew, with a vegetable on the side. Third course: cake, ice cream, pudding, cheese, fruit, or coffee. Bread always included.

Courses were served in dishes smaller than what Americans use; the second course was on what we could call a large salad plate. Likewise, the portions were smaller. What was interesting was that even the big, hefty pilgrims got full. We all ate what we were given and then we were done. No thought of seconds. It was enough.

As I said, this is all ridiculously obvious. Over the course of 38 days, the lessons were eventually assimilated. Now comes the challenge of maintaining them in my world of abundance and clock-driven activity.

At this point, you are dazzled by my Blix, aren't you? And I totally agree with what you're thinking: How absurd to travel so far to re-learn what I already knew. But it was a lesson that I needed to become reacquainted with.

Again, please don't laugh.

Oct 29, 2014 3:20:00 AM | Camino Series, Food and Drink, Health

10/26/2014

Aftermath of an Adventure...

Another day, another spectacular mountain…every few minutes, I had to stop, gape, and take a picture. I have almost 2,000 photos!

I was warned.

Re-entry into daily life after walking the entire 500-mile Camino de Santiago would not be easy. The last two pages of my guidebook by John Brierly attempted to prepare me: "When, after a prolonged absence, friends and family remark, 'You haven't changed at all,' I am hopeful that they are either blind or following some meaningless social convention."

Pretty blunt. And spot on.

Even as my pilgrimage was winding down--with some help and a reality check during the last 100 kilometers (62 miles) from the "turigrinos" who jump in for a few days, sometimes using tour vans that carry luggage and provide snacks--I wondered how to explain the experience. It is soooooo much more than just a long walk.

"Turigrinos"-- A combination of "tourists" and "peregrinos"-- indicated by the shopping bag, tiny daypacks, conditioned (!!) hair, non-sturdy shoes, and puffy jackets that would never fit in an authentic backpack. These folks did NOT walk 430 miles prior to this photo.

First--and easiest to describe--is the physical element. It was much harder than I expected, start to finish. Just as realtors have code descriptions ("Needs TLC." "Cozy." "Owners eager to sell.") so does the Camino. "Natural path" means rocks--big, slippery ones--and no chance of a level terrain. It means up and down hills, all day long. "Quiet isolated stretch" means walking for miles and miles without a place to eat/drink/pee...or poop. It can also mean no shade or shelter. One day I walked over twelve miles before hitting any kind of man-made building or business. A pilgrim has no choice but to walk on. Over time, my fitness level soared. I lost almost fifteen pounds--eating whatever, whenever I wanted. And even with sunblock, I tanned.

Bunks: Up to 100 in a room, although most were broken down into cubicles or nooks of 6-20 beds. Spread out your sleeping bag to claim your space!

Next come the logistics. Harder for a non-Camino person to understand. From Day One, I was part of the Pilgrim Community. Co-ed bunk beds, first come, first served. Shared showers and toilets, sometimes on other floors. Showers often shut off after 15-30 seconds, to conserve hot water. Three or four rounds, and you're done. We were compelled to save water for those who'd had a hard day and arrived later. I learned to say "cama baja" to ask for a lower bunk. I also learned to add a pleading expression to support my request. What was crazy is how simple it all was...and how nice to have it be so simple.

The scenery changed each day, but not my walking outfit. Washed in whatever soap I had--shampoo or laundry--it was (hopefully) dry by the next morning. In my left pocket, a Coke bottle for water at the next public fountain. In my right pocket, my iPhone for quick photos. In my backpack? A piece of fruit and some nuts for snacking-on-the-go. Makeup? Zero. Socks? By the end, three pairs...

Forget the men in their briefs. Everyone was modest and matter-of-fact at the same time. Besides, we were too exhausted to care about private parts. We all had to be packed up and out of the albergue by 8 am. Doors locked and lights out at 10 pm...if you had enough stamina to still be awake at 10 pm. My latest night was 9:30. Snoring? Oh, yes! But also, it was kind of comforting to listen to all the "night sounds" that people make. Made for a camaraderie of sorts. I knew I would miss it. And I do.

It was much more important to score a sunny place to dry your daily hand-washing. We jockeyed for clothesline space, oblivious of what was being hung out. Panties, lacy bras, tiny whitey-tighties. All we wanted was to have tomorrow's outfit dry before we put it on. Please, Saint James--Santiago--let our clothes dry. Please. Amen.

Washing clothes at the end of the day. Photo from Rabanal, the last town before the BIG climb to O'Cebreiro. the final ascent--but not the steepest, which would come later. It was also the last sunny, warm day before going into Galicia. Misty, rainy, and cool--like Ireland or the Pacific Northwest. I much preferred that over the heat (90 degrees+) of the first few days!

The next level is the emotional aspect. Here is where pilgrims start to have a difficult time. The Camino defies you NOT to think about your life and decisions. The Meseta--Spain's farmland--offers a five day opportunity to contemplate. Your choices. Your successes and failures. A memory. Five memories. Relationships. Families. Careers. Things that did not come to fruition. Things that never will. What is still possible. On the Meseta, you are truly alone. You can sing out loud. Twirl your trekking poles. Laugh and cry. How to tell someone, "Yeah, I bawled for three days...and I'm not exactly sure why." You want to keep it for yourself, protect it, at least until you figure out what the heck happened out there.

The Meseta: Spain's farmland, the closest to flat that a pilgrim experiences. And it's still not all that flat.

Last comes the internal. They say it takes months to process the events of the Camino. To understand the changes that occurred...and they do occur. Some changes were always there, hibernating, waiting a long time to be recognized. Some are new. There are realizations and revelations. How does a pilgrim even begin to say, "Whoa! I need to make some serious decisions about how to live my life!" Not easy, and not forthcoming. Especially during the walk and right after returning. I had those moments, too. Some were natural outcomes of what I'd already been thinking. Others were brand-spanking new. It's all private and personal. And extremely difficult to talk about. After all, people thought you just went on this really long, cool walk. Got to eat some great food and drink wine, at bargain prices. You got a certificate suitable for framing. And lost some weight. What more could you want?!?

Pilgrim graffiti--it can be meaningful.

You will recall that I spent the months prior to leaving writing the Camino Countdown series. It was my attempt to explain why I was willing to live out of a backpack for more than five weeks, and what I was expecting. Even the hazards, such as blisters, bed bugs, and outdoor toileting. (I know you're curious: No to the blisters, Yes to the bed bugs and outdoor toileting. Details in the future--be patient.)

Oct 26, 2014 4:53:00 AM | Camino Series, Travel

09/03/2014

A Blix From Bordeaux

Bonjour, Mes Amis!

This will not be long...I am struggling with a French keyboard. Ginna will understand. It is an AZERTY keyboard, kind of hilarious with the *a* and *q* reversed. Sorry...can't find any quotation marks--they don't exist here. Bear with me.

So, it seems that Rick Steves--the Guru of Europe Travel--dismisses Bordeaux. Doesn't even include it in his guidebooks. I felt compelled to prove him wrong, but I'm not so sure I can. What could be wrong? It's smack dab in the middle of French Wine Country! It's old--goes back to Medieval times; Avenue Victor Hugo used to be a moat that protected the city. And when Charlemagne got his butt whipped in Roncevalles, Spain (I will be there on Friday), he had his dead knights brought to Bordeaux for burial.

Even this morning, I hopped on the nifty Tram to have a practice run to Le Gare de St. Jean, ny train station for tomorrow at 0746. Sleek and efficient, the Tram runs by ancient buildings and parallel to La Rive Garonne, the powerful and muddy river that made Bordeaux a city of importance centuries before the Declaration of Independence. La Garonne is so wide and strong that it didn't even have a bridge--Pont de Pierre--until 1822. At least 400 years after the city began.

Yes, it's fatigued, in certain areas. Like most cities.Sure, it has the tallest bell tower in southern France. It also has blocks and blocks of boarded up storefronts. It has the original buildings of the Old Town, with the narrow *open -air sewer* alleys. It also has an enormous homeless population. Again, like most cities. It's authentic and unapologetic.

It's France, and therefore I forgive it for any character flaws. (The dog shit on the sidewalks, though? That's just awful.) I love the carriage door entrances on the curving streets, and the sycamore trees that line the boulevards, and the fact that children get to grow up already knowing how to speak the most beautiful language in the world. I love how people use the parks to enjoy lunch...and later to socialize. It's a teenager's dream to meet friends on the lawns after school.

I think Rick Steves is being snobby by ignoring this ancient city. Get here if you can...and delight in realizing that no tourist is walking around with the unmistakable teal-and-gold guidebook.

This keyboard, however, is a nightmare.

A bientot!

Sep 3, 2014 4:39:43 AM | Camino Series

08/24/2014

Camino Countdown--Weeks 3,2,1: Any Last Words?

Here begins the Journey,
Now begins the Day.
With one step upon the Road
My soul is on its way.
--JS Selfe

Okay, now you know. I am terrible at math...apparently, I can't even count backwards on a calendar. Not even St. James can help me with this deficiency. We began the Camino Countdown 31 weeks ago. I counted, and counted again. I was sure I had the accurate countdown nailed. Not so. No wonder I never get invited to be on any accounting committees.

Although I begin the actual hike in two weeks, I consider next week to be the starting point. I will return to Chicago to begin my pilgrimage...you are supposed to start from "home." After a visit with my family, O'Hare Airport will be my launching pad. I thought I accounted for everything when I did the countdown calculation. Anyway, three Camino Countdown weeks combined into one. A Three-fer!

At this point, I am just ready to go. Now. This minute. It hasn't been a good week. A relationship that I was excited and hopeful about took a nosedive and crashed. Then, after learning that my job has been eliminated due to funding (apparently people aren't donating to JDRF these days) all I want is to hit the road. Walk. Think. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

I plan to blog as I go--it wouldn't be the same if I couldn't share my experience with you! I don't intend to be tied to deadlines. Or to find Internet at the end of a long day. You will hear from me--I just can't make any promises now. And you wouldn't want me to, right?

A big thanks to all of you who have been cheering for me from the start. It means everything to me. I appreciate your comments, suggestions, humor...and honest observations that I am much too old and wise to be worried about whether Crocs are the start of a terrible downhill fashion tumble... And I have the quotes you gave me neatly printed across the tops of the pages in my journal.

"Experience is enriched by reliving it, contemplating it, and trying to describe it to another person." --David Miller (AWOL on the Appalacian Trail)

Let's do this!

Buen Camino!

Aug 24, 2014 3:14:00 AM | Camino Series

08/13/2014

Camino Countdown--4 Weeks: Getting Any Jitters?

"Worrying is like sitting in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn't get you anywhere." -English Proverb

The Countdown continues...and I'm starting to get nervous. I think I'm as ready as I can be--although it would be nice if I had more big six-hour chunks of time for training. However, earning a living cuts into the day. As my departure date gets nearer, there are a few things that I can't seem to stop worrying about.

1. Is my backpack too heavy? You know that I have been conscientious about what I'm bringing, and how much everything weighs. Just recently, I told you about my fine packing skills and how proud I was about getting all the stuff on my list into my beautiful Gregory Jade 38 backpack. Last weekend--both days--I took my load for serious walks. 13.5 miles on Saturday, 11.5 miles on Sunday. Except for the oppressive Florida heat and humidity, we did fine. Dripping wet at the end, it was hard to peel out of my hiking outfit, but the backpack sat on my hips perfectly--and not on my shoulders--like the wise folks at REI promised when they fitted me. On the verge of feeling smug, I suddenly remembered that not everything is in the backpack. I've pulled out a few things to wear on the plane that will have to eventually find a space: glasses, hooded fleece, Crocs. then there's the sleeping bag my son lent me after his stint in Afghanistan. It's ultra-light at 14 ounces, but that's still almost another pound. Little by little, the weight is creeping up. Then there will be the water and snacks...by now, I am getting the jitters.

The main reason for my backpack worry? Read on...

2. Will I make it past the first day? This is my most recent concern--although it's not as if the terrain has suddenly shifted. Look at the chart above. I start at the far left, in the charming French town of St. Jean Pied-de-Port. Right off, it's uphill. Seriously uphill. In feet, from 524 sea level to 3100 sea level...in eight miles. After that, another 1000 feet before reaching Col de Lepoeder, which has--as you might suspect--great views. Then it's a steep downhill march to finally reach Roncevaux (actually, Roncevalles, because that's what it's called in Spain, and I will be in Spain by then.) Total walk on the first day: 18 miles. I began to fret when my original plan to break this "first stage" into two days fell apart. I figured I'd go about a third of the way and stop in Orisson. You know, kind of start slowly. After Orisson, there are no alburgues until Roncevalles. But when I tried to make a reservation in Orisson--there are only 18 beds there--it turned out that I was much too late. So now, it's all the way to Roncevalles. Of course, most people do fine. I will likely do fine, too. But now the weight of my backpack takes on a new serious consideration.

Which brings me to my third jittery worry...

3. What about snacks? I found this photo of a Costco-sized bag of trail mix--FOUR pounds--and wished I could bring it along. Which is totally ridiculous, I know. Spain has plenty of provisions. Yet, now with my already overweight backpack, climbing a mountain, I know I will get hungry. And there are days--Sundays to be specific--when the tiny villages are closed, and pilgrims need to plan ahead. Even if I find tinned sardines (For some reason, sardines have been popping into my mind. But they require crackers, and how will I keep the crackers intact?) where will I store them and how much will they weigh? At this point, you are out of patience with me, and I don't blame you one bit.

Millions of pilgrims have gone before me and done quite well. You don't read about heaps of pilgrim skeletons by the side of the trail because of backpacks and the lack of 4-pound bags of goodies. I think it's the same as wedding jitters...it's probably time to just get on with this wonderful adventure.

And it's time to stop worrying about worrying.

Aug 13, 2014 7:05:39 PM | Camino Series

BoomerBlix