I promised myself I wouldn’t have to walk this far again and here I was, walking some unknown distance with feet far beyond blistered and a backpack well over 30 pounds. At least, I thought, I don’t know how far I have to go. At least it’s cloudy and rainy today too. Two days prior I hiked over 24 miles in the sizzling May heat from the northern border city of Valensa to the Spanish city of Redondela. To say that day was brutal was an understatement, but I did it in telling myself that I wouldn’t have to repeat such a distance and here I was, walking some unknown distance making up for lost ground from the day before. All I knew is that if my feet didn’t collapse, I would pass three other albergues before finally collapsing on a bed in an albergue in the city of Padrón. My starting point for today was Pontevedra and though I don’t know how far it is, I know it’s far…
So far this morning I’ve walked out of the city of Pontevedra, for the second time… Yesterday in trying to take an easier day so some friends could catch up, I treked through two miles of the city to reach a hostel which I discovered doesn’t exist. Then seeing my only options were to either spend an exorbitant amount of money to stay in a nearby hotel or backtrack to the nearest albergue, I hobbled back those same two miles silently cursing at myself knowing I’d have to redo that stretch…
Gee this looks familiar…
This being day 7 of my (hopefully) 8 day hike to Santiago de Compostela on the Camino Português route I am already accustomed to the routines of the hike. Sleeping on the camino is tricky. It’s not easy sleeping in a room with 39 other pilgrims, several of whom subconsciously compete in snoring contests with the losers waking up while the winner keeps snoring… My body gets dehydrated at night and so I drink lots of water. Then even when I stop walking my mouth gets dry and I keep drinking. Unfortunately that means I wake up in the middle of the night to pee. Even with earplugs falling asleep was a challenge when all I could think about is the looming mission approaching me in a couple hours. Then the first pilgrim wakes up, initiating a chain-reaction of other pilgrims waking and clanking.
Over the past week it’s been the same routine, I sleep until I know it’s futile. By 5:00 the first few pilgrims have gotten up and by 5:30 I know that further meaningful sleep will not take place under these eyelids of mine and that’s when I roll out of bed, stumble to the bathroom becoming aware that my blisters have recovered only enough for me to start the next day. I brush my teeth, pack my sleeping bag, carefully slip on my socks and shoes as to cause the least discomfort and knowing today would rain, I put on my rain gear and leave by 6 AM, a new early record for me! (Turns out it was 7 AM, damn Portugal/Spain time difference…)
So here I am finally getting out of Pontevedra, again. The sky shrouds any hint of what time it is nor do I have any desire to check to see how far I’ve gone. By now I’ve learned that I walk fast compared to other people thanks to all of the comments about being in a hurry and routinely passing people. It’s not that I’m in a hurry, I guess my normal walking pace is simply more hurried than those of my peers. So like every morning, I gradually end up passing many of those who left before me. There’s oh so much to go today, so I continue to do what I do. I walk…
The path leads out of the city and onto a busy road. My golden task is to look for the golden arrows that have been guiding me since Portugal, which also serves as a form of entertainment when all you do is walk. I observe the light morning traffic driving past as I do my best to find my footing on the side of the busy road. Asphalt sucks, I’ve found, yet it’s better than cobble stones which is better than dirt roads riddled with baseball sized rocks. On the camino you see everything in between along with the occasional dirt path covered in soft pines to ease your footing. So far today’s been pavement and pebbled dirt paths along the pavement. I’m not thinking about the blisters but I’m consciously seeking out better footing when I see it. It’s the little things that help…
Another reason people think I’m in a hurry is because I don’t take many breaks. Eventually after what feels like two hours I see my friends up ahead who left well before I did. As I catch up to them we pass our first cafe since leaving Pontevedra. In knowing that there’s still a tremendous amount to go and knowing that taking a break a would hurt, I turn down their invitation for a coffee and trudge onwards. It sounds counterintuitive yet taking a break longer than a couple minutes actually hurts more than continuing. Whenever I take a break longer than a couple of minutes my feet regain their sense of feeling. Since walking the road to blisterhood from my first days I grasped that I wouldn’t stop getting more until I finish the camino. I tried plasters and bandages with limited effect and decided only rest at end of my camino would fix my feet. So whenever I start walking again, the bottoms of my feet are sensitive to each step and it’s not until five minutes of walking through it do my feet get used to it. At best with every step I don’t think about the pain but I don’t forget about it either; I find a balance between fatigue in my legs, back and shoulders, and sensation in my feet.
So I continue… Shortly thereafter I pass a sign indicating that that cafe was the first of the four cities I had to pass to reach Padrón, my goal. One fourth of the way there! I tell myself I’ll allow a break once I find a good place in a couple more miles. And so I walk…
The scenery changes, the path changes from pavement to dirt roads once more while the sun stays hidden behind a blanket of clouds. I am content because if I don’t see the sun, I stay cool and I don’t know what time it is.
Up along the pathway I see a wide stone fence, perfect in size to set down my bags, rest my legs and meditate. As I rest, the sun peaks it’s golden rays through a fracture in the clouds, reminding me it’s still there. I cherish these fifteen minutes in knowing I’ve earned them yet I know I must keep going. For the first five minutes thereafter, feet feel tingly as expected. Next five minutes, same as they are going to keep feeling.
The path winds along farms lined with grape vines. Every so often the path spits me out onto the highway which I follow until it swallows me once more into the fields. The rain comes, the rain goes; never too fierce to be a nuisance, today it is appreciated. I come to cherish every turn in the road; it gives a small sense of accomplishment of having covered that bit of land. I don’t dwell too much about what’s ahead, I keep walking, and walking, and walking…
After a while I make a turn and see, a cafe! I relent to my appetite and steer towards the pitstop. Like habit I order a ham & cheese bocadillo and sit myself inside across from two unfamiliar faces with whom I promptly start chatting. It turns out these two girls from Malta and Scottland have been walking for well over a month from Lisbon. They dismiss any uncertainties I’d heart about walking from Lisbon, mainly that there’s nowhere to lodge along the way. Over the course of our sandwiches they shared their stories of sleeping in fire stations, jamming out in the music room of a church and being invited countless times to dinner by locals all without speaking their language. I thought the pilgrims starting from Spain missed the best part of the camino–the walk through Portugal from Porto and here I see that I missed what to them was the best part–the walk to Porto.
We exchange contacts and I continue my days journey. I learn that up ahead is the halfway point for me, the city of Calda da Reis! Like habit, the path gradually changes from farms coated in grapevines to paved roads lined with houses up til’ I reach the city. And like a reoccurring foul joke, the golden arrows that are supposed to guide me become fewer and fewer and fewer… Since entering Spain I get the impression they want me to lose myself in these cities. Every couple of blocks I ask for directions until eventually I find my way out of the city where the arrows reappear. Like the unwinding of a clock the scenery regresses from city to farmlands to forest. I’m half way, so I walk…
I walk and when I get bored, I eat an orange. When I want to lighten my backpack, I drink some water. When I need motivation, I tell myself “At least I’m not at work right now”. And when I want to complain, I have no one to complain to so I shut up and keep walking… It’s this section now that I struggle the most with. My feet hurt and I still have an unknown number of miles to go. I need help continuing, show me a sign!
Thank you!
It was these signs that gave me the strength to continue an extra couple of miles that I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. If I could just get to the next checkpoint, the city of Valga, then I would be halfway to Santiago de Compostela. Beyond that, every step I made after Valga would be one less that I would have to walk the next day.
And like that, a few long stretches of pathway uphill and downhill, adjacent to the highway and I see the next checkpoint, the Valga city albergue! This day I would take a real break. I drop off my bags inside and outstretch myself outside. I take my shoes and socks off and cherish what I’ve walked – 21 miles so far.
At the albergue I happen upon a deep conversation with a retired couple from Spain and Japan. Having told them where I was walking from, they asked me why the hurry? I told them what I tell myself, if you walk your own speed and keep walking it, are you really in a hurry? They teach me the difference between Caminar and Hecho de Caminar (walking vs act of walking) and we share our deep life views on why we’re doing this. I share with them my perspective: ever since crossing into Spain the camino has gotten much more Westernized with Camino vending machines along the way and much more walking on highways that I haven’t seen as much of the beauty of which Portugal spoiled me.
Today the walking has been brutal but thus far the conversations have well made up for it. I end up resting there for an hour before my impatience gets the best of me and I decide to get a start on the last 6 miles. I pack up, shoe up and off I hobble!
Fifteen minutes in and something’s not right…
The path left off on the highway, I saw other people walk past on the highway but there are no arrows… A mile further I ask the workers where the Camino de Santiago is and they point down the highway I’m walking on – *facepalm* I walk until I see a sign for a church to the left and I formulate that that the camino must cross past or be near the church so I follow the sign all while telling myself I won’t be going in the complete opposite direction, like the last time this happened. I make it past the church and ask a local who drives by and she confirms that I’m walking in the complete opposite direction… I find the highway and continue down as I did before I turned.
An unknown length of time elapses until I come across a small city with people going about life. Surely one of them must know the direction of the real path and to my now cynical surprise, they do! I turn perpendicular to the highway and walk half a mile in the opposite direction to last time and I rediscover the real path. The real path was much more gratifying to traipse down than the noisy & hard highway and a now little drizzle helps cool off my now sweat drenched jacket. And lucky me, I’m approaching another city! I know this ain’t Padrón but I know I’m getting awful close.
My feet are near melting at this point so I jump at the chance to eat when I see a pilgrims cafe. I get what I always get–a bocadillo, but this one’s fancy!
I learn that from some other pilgrims that I have a little more than two miles to walk until my destination. After I scarf down my sandwich, one thing leads to another and I end up having a very long conversation with the cafe owner in Spanish. Almost an hour long! He share’s some tips for getting free coffee at restaurants, and shares his hobbies and we geek out about our blogs for some time. Eventually my impatience, foot discomfort and desire to be in a bed force me to end the conversation. I’m resolved to finish this last stretch. The sun’s come out and all I can think is “I’m in the home stretch baby!”
This last stretch was rough but pretty. I crossed through the city of Pontecesures and over the bridge into Padrón.
Beautiful Pontecures with a… factory right in middle of it?!
The last distance from the bridge was simply one foot in front of the other. At this point I’m impatient and I can’t help but check my phone every couple hundred feet to see how far to the albergue. Up and up and up until at last…
No, not the horse…
In Padrón I find my very own bed with my very own pillow. From here I’m less than 15 miles away from Santiago de Compostela compared to the 27 I just walked. Now I mean it when I say, I’m not walking this far again!
