batalla del vino 2010 (tve)

Now I know how Lucy felt...

After getting out of that vat of grapes!

We took a little detour off the Camino these past two days to attend the Wine Battle of Haro. Mary Hannon and I were on the losing side!
First, mary's arrival. She came in on the luxe-bus from Madrid. Apparently she paid extra to get out of the dung-hole that is the main bus station in Madrid. I guess bus stations really are like McDonalds: it's the same fare all over the world. And it's shitty. Anyway, back to Mary's arrival. Her bus was late, Cecelia and I were sad and fidgety after saying goodbye to our Camino pals and sitting around waiting fir a latebus all day. So she steps off the bus to a Teary-eyed me. And soon she had to deal with a fidgety-anxious me: when we walked 30 minutes to the train station to pick up the rent-a-car we discover that the train station is closed. Completely. Boarded up, abandoned like a Yukon goldmine. Incredible. So, another fifteen minutes back to the old town and to the tourist office and we were told ¨no worry. the new station is only 6K out of town and there´s a bus¨ The rental car place closed in 32 minutes at this point. So back out the door and ten minutes over to the taxi stand, which just happened to be next to the bus station where Mary came in to begin with. Yes, ironic. But so very not funny. Our taxi man was sympathetic and fast (two fab attributes) We got the car with 8 minutes to spare.

Haro. The capital of the Rioja. Or so they say. But on June 29th every year, no one disputes it. It is the famous Haro Wine Battle. Again, a party in the plaza until 7AM. Music and dancing all night. For some. We roused ourselves at 6;40am, dressed ourselves all in white and headed out just as Frankie was singing "I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps....¨ we followed the revelers out of town to the battle. Unaware that it was a 6K walk. Suddenly a fully decorated tractor appears pulling a party of partiers. Cecelia asks if there´s room for us. Denied. Her mother yells¨unas mas?!¨And there´s a loud ¨si, si¨ ´Run Cecelia, run!¨ The next thing we know, and the last for the next six hours, is that she is sitting on the lap of a man twice her age. Hmmmmm....


Mary and I hoofed it most of the way, repeatedly passed by cars loaded up with people and oddly enough, bundles of sticks tied to the tops of their vehicles, just like the tractor was. We've trudged (because we are wearing flip-flops) almost 4K when a man twice our age spies my outstretched thumb (I refrained from exposing other body parts) and picks us up. Funny how that works. (Well, really not that funny.) We made it to the bottom of the mountain. We were still dry and white. Not to last. We didn't make it 100 yards before we had to run a gauntlet of super-doakers and pesticide jugs, though both now filled with vino tinto. It was another 50 yards when two older gentlemen dumped a 5 gallon bucket on my head. Suffice to say, it was the closest I've been to a wet t-shirt contest since The Button in 1982. Ft. Lauderdale ain't never seen the likes of this. Hundreds of people dancing and doused in wine at 8 in the morning. Crazy. Fun, and unforgettable.


Cecelia, on the other hand, has been hanging with a family of vintners. She attended the mass at the top of the mountain, came down to her dunking, but then sat down to escargot and fine wine. Meanwhile Mary and I were just drowning in bad wine and looking for a piece of sunshine in which to warm up. Everytime we found one, a bucket found us.

Somewhere around 10am, Mary and I realize that we cannot feel our fingertips. To keep warm, we have spent the last hour or so in the mosh pit dancing and singing "alcohol, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol..." though we have not had a drop to drink. The sun has not reached this side of the mountain, we are shivering and we are still soaking wet. There is no place to hide in this battle. Everywhere you turn there´s someone else looking to spray douse or drown you in rioja. We can´t find Cecelia. We are in a sea of burgundy and everyone looks like everyone else. Presently we are befriended by a barely-comprehensible Spaniard, seemingly in our age category (over 30!) But we are soon corrected as even though he is in our age category (actually over 40) he is not a Spaniard. "Catalan" he informs us in his pigeon English. At least he had that; I have minimal Spanish; Mary has high school spanish (which is apparently the same as mine!) and this fellow claims to have NO spanish as he is "CATALAN!" (insert chest thump here). We are then interrogated as to the types and amount of drugs that "we" Americans like to use. I'm thinking "gee, I haven't even had a sip of wine yet and he wants to know about our drug use?!" Soon his friend Miguel comes over and it becomes clear that this fellow is a childhood friend whom they all love (there was a large group of them there) but who is missing a little something btwn the ears. He assures us that he is harmless and from there on in keeps an eye on his friend and a smile in our direction, grateful that we are just being kind to him, though probably more grateful that we are keeping him occupied. A little like new parents who go out for a bite to eat with young children and are relieved when the older couple in the booth behind them entertain and distract the kids; the next best thing to being out alone. Soon, just before we can't take any more wine, wet shivering, or indecipherable Catalan, Miguel asks us if we'd like to join them for a barbecue. Not wanting to miss out on additional cultural experiences (or a meal) we accept his invitation and walk down into the field that has become a parking lot for all the revelers who had the foresight to drive out here. We then find out why all the cars had sticks tied to the roofs of their cars; that is what they use for their barbecues. They pile the sticks into a 3' by 3' clump and light it. When the fire starts to die down a bit they quickly slap on their meat: very thin pork or lamp chops. They're so thin that they cook in 5 minutes or so. Which is convenient as you can imagine that the sticks don't burn for very long. The meat has clearly been marinating in salt and garlic; the smell is divine. The taste of it is even more ethereal as it is served in a hunk of fresh bread which soaks up the juices and the fat. So there we are, stripped to our bras with our t-shirts drying on the hood of a car, shoveling food in our mouths like it was the last supper. Or the last breakfast as it was only 10 o'clock in the morning.

It is not long before we are dry and starting to think about finding Cecelia again. But there are so many people here, over 2000, and they all really do look alike. We decide that she will have to find her own way back and we start to make our way down the mountain. The sun is now a good ways up in the sky; we are finally warmed up and I can actually feel my fingertips. Despite our underlying concerns about Cecelia's whereabouts, we are feeling better and start to laugh at how we spent the last several hours. That's when we saw them. Two sophomoric Spaniards with wine-filled pesticide jugs on their packs. They see us and are waiting. Their faces say to us "don't think they only spray people coming up the mountain- oh no!" They want to ensure that you are wet as long as possible. Not only do we have to run another gauntlet downhill, but we have to do it in a river of wine now. Our feet are now tinto. And they would remain that way for at least 5 days!

We walk for about 20 minutes when some kind, compassionate Spaniard and his 10 year old daughter sees my outstretched thumb and picks us up. We shower and wait for Cecelia. And wait, and wait, and wait. Somewhere around 12:30pm I start to get fairly nervous. We had left all valuables behind as everything gets wet. No cell phone, no contact with her. Suddenly the music rises from the main plaza. The parade back from the mountain has reached Haro. All the decorated tractors are flowing into the plaza with a band or loudspeakers blaring in front of them and a gaggle of red revelers dancing behind them. Cecelia comes bounding off of one of them running for the pension. She has spent the morning with an extended, and clearly lovely, family who had "adopted" her. She looked like the Cheshire Cat when she arrived, her grin was that wide. What a day, for all. And it was only just after noon! We still had Mia and Margie to pick up at the airport in Bilbao.

18.5 miles today. Cecelia did great. Sure she was limping here and there like the rest of us, but overall, she was a trooper. It was so hot yesterday that we decided to leave as early as sanely possible. That was 6:15am. We saw a beautiful sunrise which, thankfully, was soon eclipsed by high clouds. A perfect day for walking.

Last night we were all in the tiny square of Belorado, celebrating with the rest of Spain for their victory over Chile. Boy, they love their football here. Thank God they won; it'll make the Camino even more interesting.

We walk until about 6 hours and stop somewhere btwn 1-3pm. We shower, we wash and hang out our clothes and then....we stroll around the town or village waiting for the pilgrims menu to be served. Sometimes you think "ah, we should just keep walking" but the reality is that after 6 hours, your feet are really killing you. And that's not taking into account any blisters you may have developed over the days. Plus, there's no guarantee that you'd get a bed at 6 or 7 o'clock. A group of pilgrims just left this little village to walk another 4K. They stopped for food and beer (they're in their early 20's) and they'll just walk another hour and hope for the best. It's actually a good attitude to have, but so is chillaxin' after a 19 mile walk.

Tomorrow we arrive in Burgos, a major city on the Camino and in Spanish history. We will stop the Camino here, pick up a car, then 3 friends (Mary, Margie and Mia) and begin again in Leon. It'll be a luxurious break!

My new name is...

Tinkerbell. At least that´s who I felt like today after Cecelia and I posted 4 kilos of clothes off to Santiago. Even though I only dropped about 5 of the 20-something pounds, I felt like it was at least half the weight of the pack. What a difference! I suppose lugging it all around for 10 days would make one fairly fit to carry five pounds less too. Who knows. I could wake up tomorrow and start kvetching all over again! Though I doubt it!

We took the bus out of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, for about five minutes before we passed the village of Granon. The driver dropped me off at the next village. I met up with three of our group. Stefania and Cecelia stayed on the bus. Cecelia´s knee is locking up on her, and Stefania is worried about a hernia (she had an operation for one last year so I guess she has experience in these matters?!) The walk was beautiful but HOT: We are now in Castillo y Leon and there are nothing but wheat and barley fields all around. One can easily see why this land was hotly contested 200+ years ago, when land truly equalled wealth. It is so arable and easily accessible for reaping, if you will. Anyway, back to the HOT. We will have to leave by 6am tomorrow if we are to avoid the real heat of the day. We have a 17 mile walk, with hills tomorrow (shhh, don´t tell you-know-who) so we don´t need the midday sun to add to our travails.
We are in a small town in Belorado, Spain. About 40K from Burgos. If that means anything to anybody out there. We have all gathered in Stall No. 2 of this Two-horser. We have all just communed to watch the Brasil v Portugal match. There are mostly Spaniards here, but it was lovely to see the enthusiasm of the three Brasilian girls in front of us, sporting their yellow and green. Everyone was happy with the tie. Its so fun to be in a soccer-mad country during the World Cup. Most are astonished with Cecelia and me. They can´t believe we know anything about football at all. When I explain to them that probably 90% of American kids play soccer they are dumbstruck. And now, look who´s in the next round? Not Italy, not France not.....tonight´s match is in an hour and a half. A big one: Spain v Chile. I think this place will be packed. If thats possible in such a small village! So, we´ll leave in a few minutes, get our Pilgrims Menu and reconvene. ¨Pilgrims Menu?¨ you ask? In Spain, people don´t eat til at least 9:00pm. On the Camino there are always small restaurants, in the smallest of towns, that cater to the peregrinos. Usually the meal costs 9 euros and includes two courses, bread and wine. Lots of wine. It is very cheap. And very good. At our Albergue I noticed that they sell wine themselves. A bottle of Casa Crianza for 4 euros. Ooooh, life en Espana is good!
Alrighty then, enough said from here. Lets hope Spain wins tonight, moves on to the next round, and makes the world around us a little more happy!
Hasta luega!

Some are Steeper than Others

Learning curves, that is. After struggling and struggling; after blisters on my toes and on my back, Cecelia and I are going to hold back tomorrow until the post office opens and mail half of our effin' u-know-what to Santiago. The weight is killing me, my feet and my camino. I don't care if it costs me my first-born (yuk,yuk!) I can't lug it any more!!

Last night was a Feria in Najera. The feast of St Juan. Bonfires (like ireland) and general whoop-whoop. Naturally Cecelia wanted to partake. So did I, but I thought Id let her have her time. All I said was that she had to get up early (30K) and not to "pull a Pamplona" on me. I thought that not too harsh. She was afterall sitting by the river with a group ofpeople (mostly guys) that we really don't know, despite walking with them for a week. She has at least heeded my advice and sought out the gay guy for company and protection. Every girl needs a girlfriend.

We are now in St Domingo de la Calzada, an ancient stop on the camino. It is here that an unjustly accused young man was unjustly hanged (sounds like Wm Kennedy Smith except for the hanging and unjust part). Needless to say that despite swinging for months (another Kennedy predilection) our young man survived just like the "cooked" chicken on the Mayor's plate. They keep chickens in the church to this day. Holy Colonel Sanders,Batman! But it is a beautiful church and a testament to centuries of faith, history and hospitality ( a pilgrims hostal was started here in the 11th century.).
I'm in a "free" wi-fi zone (1€ for a beer) right now. The teeny little bugs are starting to live up to their name, and I'm trying to remember the name for toilet in Spanish. Suffice to say, tomorrow and 6:30 vespers await. Ciao for now! B

I will never look at a bottle of Rioja the same way again. 30K (20 miles) today walking from Logroño and almost every step of it through the vineyards of the Rioja. Incredible scenery was "the carrot" today. Afterall we walked 29K yesterday and it doesn't seem as it's getting any easier. Suffice to say, if you dont believe in indulgences (or insane asylums) walk 400 miles with a 26 lb pack on your back. But back to the scenery (focus on the positive) justbreath-taking. An azure sky framing rich red soil and verdant vines (how dya like them adjectives?!) mile after mile of them, occasionally sprinkled with a small grove of olive or almond trees. Sometimes wevwalk alone, sometimes together- the Swiss money-manager, the Italian holistic dancer and mamma, the Austrian farmer, the Bavarian student and the quibbling Americans. We walk slowly "piano, piano" at first in the morning, and then each settles into their own pace. We are usually led by Agidiüs, the 60-something Austrian who has become an organic farmer in his post-industrial retirement. I say post-industrial because we think he said he worked in a factory. His hands would rival Joe Namath's. Agidiüs walks fast and steady, and then, like a loyal canine, stops and waits for us. He speaks nothing but thickly accented Austrian German. So thick that even Claudio and the Bavarian have trouble understanding him. He is actually sitting next to me now as we have a beer together and watch a bit of the England v Slovenia match. He will occasionally turn to me and start speaking German. You can imagine my nods and smiles.
Cecelia has been suffering these last two days. Her knees are nit doing so well. She at least has the company of The equally-suffering Bavarian Kirsten. Yesterday they had to take the bus for half the way, and today it was a taxi with some Koreans. She is confident that tomorrow will be different as it is only a 13 mile walk. On verras.
Ok, my beer is empty, the arnica gel on my feet is wearing off and I am signing off. Go out tonight, get yerself some Rioja, and think of me- per favor!!

three minutes left on the computer. In Los Arcos. We left early in the morning as usual and passed one of the most famous sites on the camino: the Irache Wine fountain. Yes folks, a fountain with wine, free flowing and for pilgrims. Its not as generous as one might think: most pilgrims leave between 5-7 in the morning. Not exactly what one craves at such an hour- need to have a PM there! But it is nice to belly up for a wee taste.
An amazing walk today through incredible wheat fields and olive groves. Not a town or bodega in sight for 8 miles or so. The skies finally cleared, there´s not a cloud in them, except that the temp remained around 62F degrees. Its supposed to warm up tomorrw. Big Spanish match tonight v Honduras. Only stayed for the first half. 29K to do tomorrow so must hit the hay. Cecelia has met a few younger folke aka Pedros, she is in better form. Will be in Logrono tomorrow and will try to muster up a better posting. In municipal hostal . Finally filled up at 4pm. Will get more crowded from here on in I suspect.
Gotta go brosser mes dents!
Buenos noches!

So, tell me: how is one to know the difference between a callous and a blister? On the bottom of one´s little toes, at my age, in the poor light? Answer: poke it with a needle and drag a piece of thread through it. If it runs like a river; its a blister. That is how my toe spent the afternoon, with a piece of thread strung through it as I walked through the streets of Estrella. Hey, at least my pedicure is still holding up; people are too taken with the different colors on each toe to notice the pus-saturated piece of thread hanging out of my sandal!

A tough day today, maybe because the ground was as hard as concrete after two days of no rain. I don´t know. Not that it is Spanish weather- more like Irish. No rain but I still think no more than 60F degrees. Long sleeves and a rain jacket all day. We only were supposed to walk 14 miles, but Claudio our Swiss translator (he is the go-between for me, with my french, Italian for Stefania, and German for the Bavarians and the Austrian- whom no one understands!) wanted to check out the smaller albergues. We ended up walking up and down this little dos-Diegos town for another 3K before finally heading to the municipal albergue, which is great.

Short post, as Cecelia wants to get on. Besides, I've been told that her blog is much funnier. Of course it is, its fiction!

Well, here my tired, bony backside sits after 26K more or less from Pamplona to Puenta La Reine. Stayed last night at the Jesus y Maria hostel and can only say it was fabulous. 6 euros, big clean and well-equipped kitchen, very clean beds, sheets, pillowcases; internet washing area with free washer machines It was just great. Was sitting at the door after the walk from Larrasoana at 11:30. They opened the doors at noon. Got settled and went out to explore the city. Cecelia is finally in a good mood. She has finally found a group of pilgrims under the age of 48 (ie someone younger than her mother!) Actually there´s a great group of pilgrims under the age of 30 in our "section" of the camino. They were all out together last night watching the England World Cup match. I was with them earlier for the US and the Germany match, but I thought it best to give her some time without mumsy in tow. It was a good idea until 10:25pm or so when she still wasn´t home, and I was told the hostal closed at 10:30pm. Needless to say I was stewing. I didn´t care too much except that she´d be locked out (she wasn´t; it actually closes at 11:00p) and that she had to get up at 6am and walk 18 miles the next day. In the end, despite (or perhaps because) she was a star. She was up and out faster than any previous morning, and has a good attitude to boot.
Today by the way was the first day with sun. Not terribly warm, but it gave us a taste of what is to come. Supposedly! We walked up the famous Alto de Perdon with its windmills and Pilgrim Sculpture. The down the other side through miles and miles of wheatfields until we reached Puente de la Reine. So called, because Queen Dona Mayor commissioned a bridge to be built here to accomodate the thousands of pilgrims heading through this area. Cecelia and I decided to head to the second hostal in town, Apostol Albergue, as it was just a bit further out of town and would give us a little head-start tomorrow. Bad idea. I have Brierly´s guide book and he notes that the Apostol hostal is "on an elevated site, 400m up the road from the bridge" But he never tells you that it is one big-ass hill and climb after 26K. And paying 8€ for the privelege too (that´s double the price from the other hostal in town!) It is however, very nice, clean airy. There´s a very large laundry room and loads of places outside to hang up your washing (which at this height dries before you´ve hung it all!) It also has a pool (that I don´t dare stick my feet in with the weather we´ve been having) so I suppose it will serve its purpose well for someone, someday.
Not many crowds thus far, by the way. The hostal in Pamplona only had 48 persons in it by 6pm. More arrived, but it was not full. This place is like a beach resort hotel in the off season. Only a handful of us.
Tomorrow it is Estella, though we are tempted to stay at the Magic Place Albergue 4K before the city. Our bodies are tired and they offer massage there! We´ll see. There´s always the bus to make up those lost kilometers!
Ok, enough for now, I believe a cold beer awaits me!
Adios!

What a good decision Cecelia made yesterday to take on the extra 5K to Larrasoana, as we were wrecked today after only walking 18K. The meal last night was fantastic. A lovely little bar, Paraquena Taberna. I think. Was it Cordon Bleu? non. But I was never so happy to see a plate of pasta! And a lovely beef stew. We hadn´t much to eat yesterday, so every mouthful was nirvanastic. Cecelia slept through the night, and I got 6 hours sleep before waking up at 4am. I think I dosed off again around 5am only to be awakened at 6am by the chorus of crinkling plastic. I understand why pilgrims get up so early, they collapse in bed at 7pm. Then they wake at 4am, lie there until they can´t take it any more before they finally get up and start packing up their stuff to leave.
We were up and on the road by 7am. It was finally NOT raining! Praise Jesus! It wasn´t sunny however and it was rather chilly (12C degrees?) We thought we were making decent time, but it seems that the little blue camino signs with the yellow writing are just giant teases. The say that you´ve got 13K left to go, meaning that you´ve walked 6K in one hour, only to dash your optimism by posting another sign several kilometers later, basically saying the same thing. Hence the title of this blog: the Strolling Expletive.
We made it to Pamplona in just over 5 hours. Our feet however, are throbbing. I fear for the ´morrow. We have 25K to walk. I can´t think about that now, I´ve got laundry to do and a football match (Germany v Ghana) to go watch. Cecelia just left to meet up with Sacha and Felix as well as James (a recent BC grad) We met Sacha and Felix last night at Larrasoana. They are Germans who made HS exchanges in Ohio and Indiana. They love the States, and Sacha in particular, is dying to visit Boston. Apparently everyone in Ohio told him that, with his red hair, he looked like he was Irish and would fit right in in Beantown. Those Ohioans are soooo funny.
We won´t see much of Pamplona, other than the nicest, old center of town as we walk through it. We are staying in an old church de Jesus y Maria. Its a beautiful hostel with internet, very clean showers, laundry, charger plugs by each bedside, and clean sheets and pillowcases. Luxury. They have constructed a modern facility within the church itself. If you look up you can see the vaults of the church, otherwise,you wouldn´t know you were in one. I highly recommend this place to any pilgrim.
Ok....I think I have to get my laundry out of the machine. Hopefully it will dry overnight. Otherwise its me skivvies on me backpack again! Gotta run- those Germans are leering over my shoulder again!
Adios!

One word: brutal.

My hips hurt (from the backpack waist belt) my shoulders hurt (from trying to alleviate some of the weight off my hips) my feet seem permanently waterlogged (from all the rain and the 50F degree weather) and my eyes ache (from waking up at 2:30am with jetleg and listening to the symphony of ronfleurs until 6am) and today we walked 27K. We sit in a tiny hamlet called Larrasoaña, about ten miles from Pamplona. How we will even get out of bed, let alone get to Pamplona is a mystery awaiting us all. We walked most of the day with Theo the Dutchman who is dragging a chariot of supplies behind him. He is nice if only for the fact that he is the only person we've come across who can speak decent English. Cecelia has been feeling rather out-of-it as most pilgrims thus far are not Spanish. The vernacular has been French. We left Theo at 1:30pm. Cecelia decided to try the extra 5K this afternoon in order to have an easier and earlier arrival into Pamplona. All I know is that I will be completely guilt-free tomorrow, come what may! For now we are sitting in the only stable in this one-horse town, sharing a San Miguel and awaiting our 11€ pilgrims' meal. That and another 6€ gets you a shower and a bed. A bed with 27 other pilgrims! Please God the earplugs work tonight!
Adios mis amigos!!

You can't get there from here!

Oh but you can!. How?! Flechas amarillas, thats how. The pilgrim's best friend is the yellow arrow. They are everywhere. On rocks, asphalt, trees, buildings, lamp posts, sidewalks- you'll find them almost anywhere. From the time one sets out on foot from St Jean Pied de Port, until one reaches Santiago, all one needs to do is look for the yellow arrows. They all lead to Santiago. In 1980s, Spanish priest and Camino promoter extraordinaire, Don Elias Valina Sampedro , begged the Galician Public Works department for leftover yellow/orange road paint. He spent the year waymarking the entire route of the Camino in Spain. The story goes that in one summer of the 80's, as he was stooped over painting a stone, he was approached by the Guardia Civil and interrogated as to what he was up to. "Planning an invasion," he answered, correctly. The tide of pilgrims has risen ever higher since. Its the ol' "if you build it, they will come" phenomenon.

The pilgrims second best friend is the scallop shell. The shell is the symbol of St James. It seems that these are more prevalent in the urban areas. Walking through the major cities, one can look for the yellow arrows, but often, in the old section of town, one can follow scallop shells embedded in the street or sidewalks. The legend has it that a groom, riding along the beach, on his wedding day saw the boat carrying the remains of St James approaching the shore in Galicia. So startled by the stone boats, he and his steed were washed into the waves, and presumed drowned. He was later brought up, and to life, covered in scallop shells. The shells later became proof of completion for returning pilgrims. The grooves of the shell also symbolize the coming together of all roads to Santiago. They are also are universally associated with rebirth (Birth of Venus) Finally they make pretty good makeshift cups.

Quite handy in a pinch!

First Leg

Well, we're off. Sort of. We are sitting in Logan. Today was a typical travel day, with a near-disaster averted and last minute well-wishers popping in to say hello. The near disaster started last night when Nancy's Iphone died. Literally. Dead. Kaput. Gone. Instead of a relaxing evening, we hurriedly searched the web for answers. Nuthin'. No Fixthefukup.com site was working. I made an early morning appointment for the Genius Bar. And as such, I spent the morning praying that the Genius Jared would/could help me. Several hours and a new Iphone later (complimentary!) I managed to retrieve all my data and restore all my contacts, music, flight confirmations and drug prescriptions. ;) Whew.
As for the last minute well-wishers, well they can sometimes be a bit of an obstacle to getting out the door, but in this case, two were a blessing. Marilyn and Mia Dunfey stopped by AND gave us a lift to the airport. (John had to take Mahlon to a hockey game) So here we sit; Sam Adams in one hand, working Iphone in the other. God is good.

The Route..Catholics, Jews, heretics and vagabonds.

Where do you start?

Truthfully, there are many places one can start the Camino. There are many Caminos in fact. They all lead to Santiago. We will be taking the most popular route, the Camino Frances. It starts in France, hence the catchy name. Cecelia and I will fly from Boston to Dublin. From Dublin we will be corralled, along with all the other Euro-cheapos, onto a Ryanair flight to Biarritz. From the Biarritz airport there is a bus to the train station. From the train station there is usually a train to a small town called St Jean Pied-de-Port. This being a Holy Year with unprecedented crowds readying to descend upon this quiet hamlet, the trains will not be running. At least not until July (so they say!) They are making repairs to the tracks. Timing is everything in life, I always say. So instead of a train, there's a bus that will drop the pilgrims off. After being up most of the night on a transatlantic flight, laying around in the departure terminal of the Dublin airport, elbowing my way towards an unassigned seat on Ryanair Flight #1982 and landing at 15:30 into the Biarritz airport, the prospect of transferring two more times onto busses was slightly unappealing. I hired a cab to meet us. We will be whisked and dumped at L'Esprit du Chemin hostel for a well-needed sleep. Check them out: http://www.espritduchemin.org/

Its a short though steep hike to our first stop. With jetlag and little sleep, oh! and a teenager, I didn't want to push the mileage the first day. We will hike just 10K (uphill) Thats about 6.5 miles. We'll stay at Refuge Orisson. A beautiful stone structure with magnificent views, if the weather is with you that is!
You can get a feel for them here: http://www.refuge-orisson.com/

It will be our second day that will start testing the toesies! Mostly uphill for 6 miles and then another 2-3 downhill to the monastery at Roncevalles. Historic Roncevalles that is. Historic because it was here that Charlemagne's army suffered its worst defeat under the Arabs. So the story goes. Ask any Basque, and he'll tell you it was the Basque fighters that delivered the humiliating blow to Charles the Great's rear guard. At any rate, for the past oh, 900 years or so, Roncevalle has been an Augustinian refuge for pilgrims crossing over the Pyrenees into Spain. Up and over and safe with a bed. 120 beds to be exact. Welcoming "all pilgrims...sick and well. Catholics, Jews, heretics, and vagabonds." Phew, I'm sure we'll fall under one of those categories!

The Countdown

The anxiety is starting to build. I would say "excitement" but there's just waaaaay too much to get done this week to put such a positive spin on it, without my daily dose of Adavan that is!

The trip has been almost ten years in the making. I was going to go alone, as many pilgrims do. Then I started thinking. (Not always a good thing.) My only daughter Cecelia (yep, that's her up there) graduates from high school this year and after this she's off and out to college (Fordham University in NYC) and probably off and out for good in reality. Yeah, I know, they always come home, but still; they're not really home and you can't be sure of it, or encourage it fer Pete's sake! So I thought maybe I should bring Cecelia along for a last little stint together. Naturally she was wildly enthusiastic about getting up at 6am every morning and walking 400+ miles; she's a teenager afterall. Her response went along these lines:

"I have an idea..." she said. "How 'bout if you walk the Camino, and I go to Barthelona?!" (emphasis on the Castilian accent)
"No," I replied "how 'bout you come on the Camino and see Spain with me, or you stay home and work a summer job. I'm not paying your airfare to pahty it up in Barthelona."

She is such a reasonable girl. And now is looking forward to our journey together. If only because there's no such thing as looking back, and the fact that I did compromise somewhat. After we finish the Camino in Santiago, she will be able to spend a couple of days in Barcelona. Let this be a warning to you all about allowing teenage daughters to watch Woody Allen's Vicki Cristina Barcelona! Should I be worried?

No matter, I don't have time to worry. I've got in-laws coming in this week; beds to change; food to buy; a graduation to attend and a BBQ to prepare. Oh, and I have to pack and continue to squeeze a 6 mile (min) walk in everyday. Who can worry?

The Strolling Expletive?

Huh?! The Strolling what?!

Simple really. This is the sisterblog to the Rolling Expletive. My personal blog named after my biking persona. This blog will be a chronicle of my walking. This June I will be walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. This pilgrimage, some 778km long (483 miles), starts in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port (“St. John at the Foot of the Pass”) on the French side of both the mountains, crosses over the border to Roncesvalles (Roncevaux in French, the “Valley of Thorns”) in Spain. From there the route passes through Pamplona, Puente la Reina, Estella, Logroño, Burgos, León, Astorga, Ponferrada and Sarria before it reaches the “City of the Apostle” in the western reaches of Galicia.

"483 miles?! Ugh." "Really?" "Why?!" Most Americans have never heard of the Camino although it is fairly well known in Europe. By the 12th century it rivaled Jerusalem and Rome as one of the great medieval pilgrim destinations. Through the centuries, millions of nobles and nobodies have travelled from all over Europe to visit the tomb of St James the Apostle. Two more nobodies are about to follow in their footsteps!

To get a better understanding of the Camino, its history and its location, log onto the Confraternity of St James site here: http://www.csj.org.uk/