On a training hike at the Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge.
On a training hike in the Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge.
Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge Visitors Center
Waking from a shallow two-hour nap, I found dawn and the western edge of Ireland.
An extraordinary day to be hiking along the Seine.
A rare find in Paris: a bathroom that is public, clean, and free. Set into the wall of the Quay d’Orsay, on the Left Bank just east of the Pont de la Concorde. Mark it in your guide books!
Circa 1930s? 1830s? 1730s?
This promenade, built in 1927, stretches along several blocks of the Right Bank. Park benches, shade, and people watching.
Looking up through the trees at the southwest cornice of the Grand Palais.
These now-infamous promise locks cover nearly the entire span of the bridge along both sides.
“Pablo” allowed me to practice my Spanish while haggling over the price of a Panama hat. I got a good deal, and I suspect he got a great one.
Looking across the Tuileries toward the Louvre.
The Swagman. Courtesy the State Records New South Wales.
Answers, cheap. Photo courtesy Flikr user CRASH:candy. Some rights reserved.
Good to know. Useful beard information from The Doghouse Diaries at http://thedoghousediaries.com/5203
At the Leopold-
Gare Montparnasse. The train station serving Paris from the southwest of France.
Gare Montparnasse. The train station serving Paris from the southwest of France.
My lunch on the TGV. My seat mate was quiet.
A view to the east about a hour out of Paris.
A vineyard just north of the city of Bordeaux.
Gare Montparnasse
The pilgrim office in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port. This is where to get one’s “pilgrim passport” and information for crossing the Pyrenees.
The town of St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port, France. This is the typical starting point for beginning the Camino Frances (French Route) to Santiago.
These were our hosts at the pilgrim refuge in StJPP, L’Esprit du Chemin.
Out of the thick fog! Orisson appears.
The common table in Refuge Orisson. Strangers from Korea, Italy, Germany, UK, France, Netherlands, Brazil, Russia, US, and Portugal gathered, laughed, drank, and ate. Great fellowship and fun as we all worked around languages and leg pain.
On the climb out of France to Spain over the Pyrenees.
Just at the signs ahead, the Camino leaves the pavement and continues through that “notch” to the right. Although our weather was perfect, it can turn dangerous rapidly. Not the grave marker to the right.
Exciting vistas. Note the stone emergency shelter against the rock outcrop.
Just past the Font of Roland (see Wikipedia), that pipe grate in the path marks the border crossing into Spain.
That white building in the center distance is the monastery hostel at Roncesvalles.
Only 790 kilometers to go! Near me is Don Pablo. Behind the camera is Don Juan Carlos. I had my first social interaction conversation in Spanish where I understood all that was said and they did not try go switch us over to English. FTW.
These signs tell us that we’re going the right way.
Useless on this rainy day, but an interesting detail.
Looking back to one of the many bridges we cross in this region.
One of my intermittent walking companions, Erika from Bonn.
Another sometime companion, Thomas from a small town (pop. 600) in Germany.
An enterprising family opened an open-air cafe in their back garden, complete with espresso, hand-squeezed orange juice, and two wood fired brick ovens.
Entering the outskirts of Pamplona.
The old city walks and cathedral rise into view.
The Plaza del Castillo in Pamplona. No bull.
About three mikes out of Pamplona, we found this haystack. Bales stacked 20 feet high.
The farmland beyond Pamplona featured peas, wheat, and fields of mustard.
Hauling my ass over the peak of Alto de Perdón (Mount of Forgiveness). The famous sculpture shows pilgrims cross the last big ridge of the Pyrenees foothills.
So far, every steep climb has been rewarded by a treacherous descent this one offered several hundred meters of grapefruit-sized boulders on a bed of slick wet clay mud.
More wheat.
Detail of pilasters at the cathedral in Puente la Reina.
The great gateway out of Puenta la Reina onto the bridge leaving the town.
The 12th century bridge from which the town of Puente la Reina takes its name.
The bridge from which Puente la Reina gets it’s name.
Unusual: a cross with the shell go Santiago.
Each new morning brings new hills.
Early morning pilgrims on the road.
When this pueblo hive into view, it was way to imagine the sense of relief an ancient peregrino might have felt at the prospect of food, security, and a place to sleep.
This map of the world – made from old truck tires – made for many smiles among passing travelers.
Leaving the pueblo of Cirauqui, we walked a well-preserved section of Roman road.
We passed numerous groves of olives and almonds.
Another of several Roman-style bridges crossed today.
At home in Ayegue, just outside the town of Estella. My bed for the night is in an albergue located in the community sport center (like a YMCA).
The Russians and Americans gather at the wine fountain offered for peregrinos at the local winery.
Passing the winery Bodega Irache as we leave Ayugue.
The region of Navarra, the jurisdiction of Estella, the town of
This stone grotto covers a deep cistern of spring water. Stone steps lead down to the pool.
The owner of the food truck was an unemployed street worker. After walking the Camino last year, he recognized an opportunity. Brilliant. Most upbeat guy you’ll ever meet.
Location, location, location. Found this food truck set up in the middle of the fields between two small towns. A very welcome sight. The men’s room was the third bush to the right.
I like to think that this house in Los Arcos was the home of Don Pablo and his wife, Donna Felicia. Their story of passion and tragedy is told even now to the young as a cautionary tale.
Spotted this stone shelter beside an olive grove just outside of Sansol.
Unwinding at the albergue in Torres del Rio.
Unwinding at the albergue in Torres del Rio.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre (12th cent.) in Torres del Rio. Inside is beautifully stRk and octagonal. No furniture or ornamentation other than the stone work and crucifix.
The Camino paralleled local highway for several kilometers.
More highway. The trick is to follow the yellow arrows painted on roadside objects.
Entrance to the cathedral in Viana.
The marker about Cesar Borgia outside the cathedral in Viana, in the region of Navarra.
Two elements I have found common in the Basque regions: hospitality and strong feelings about independence from Spain.
Entering the city of Logroño, as we leave the region of Navarra crossing into that of La Rioja.
A spacious tunnel for peregrinos that runs beneath a major highway.
This ancient stone bridge leads into the city of Logroño, population 140,000. My albergue is just on the other side.
The cathedral in Logroño.
Nesting storks are numerous on towers and the corners of buildings in Logroño.
One of my favorite doors along the way. On a farm building. I like way the structural element are exposed here.
One of my Camino companions, Andy Byers, and I go for the bistec to celebrate our arrival in La Rioja.
A splendid dinner in our Pamplona albergue with friends from the Camino.
One of many vegetable tiendas in Navarra and La Rioja. The white asparagus is popular and prevalent. In season now, and delicious.
Leaving the city of Logroño at dawn, we turned around and spotted this huge mural on the side of a building. The tattoos are the “sillos” that pilgrims have stamped on our peregrino credentials at each stop on the way.
Looking back to a gate in the old city wall. This used to have drawbridge. The moat is still there.
The only outdoor advertising allowed along the highway.
This is one section of many we saw where pilgrims weave crosses into the fencing along the path using found objects.
We came across this gentleman tending the newly budded vines in one of the vineyards. We stopped, he stopped, and then he told us about the grapes. Another great moment.
Well-placed guerrilla ads tempting pilgrims with massages and taxis rides.
Well-known poetry along an industrial wall beside the Camino. More on this one later.
24-hour vending station as we entered Nájera.
Lunch in Nájera with old friends (met a week ago) and new (met today.)
A common sight in the albergue: pilgrim boots and walking poles recharging for the next day’s journey.
The stalls and festivities for May Day and Santo Domingo’s feast day are waiting as we depart Nájera.
Making progress . . .
Not too much to show today from the road. There was lots of this . . .
. . . and this . . .
. . . and this.
A nearly empty resort town of Cirueña. Save for a few heart golfers, we saw no people. One guesses this is primarily for summer holiday getaways from the southern cities . . .
A quartet of attendants taking a break from handing out the bread medallions. Texting and selfies may have been involved.
A medallion of Santo Domingo, made of bread and about 6 inches square. This is to be hung on one’s door during the 15-day festival. Our hospitalera in the albergue gave me thus one. “For your mochila (backpack),” she told me.
A splendid feature of Cirueña was a playground with a zip line. I did not abstain.
Arrived in Santo Domingo de la Calzeda on the saint’s feast day. Many festivities. These young women, in traditional dress, hand out plaques of bread imprinted with the image of Santo Domingo, while the young men guide the burrow. Each group seemed to provide a splendid distraction to the other. One of the girls squealed when a bee landed on the edge of her basket. This prompted one of the boys to run over and swat it away with courage and great nobility. She stamped her feet, smiled, and told him how the bee had startled her. He shrugged and walked away. Theatre at its best.
A splendid feature of Cirueña was a playground with a zip line. I did not abstain.
Common room at the municipal albergue in Santo Domingo de la Calzada.
Andy and I climbed the tower of the Santo Domingo cathedral. Tomorrow the Camino takes us past the left side of that conical hill.
Have now passed the conical hill that appeared in the distant west last night . . .
Endless field of wheat . . .
Crossing over from La Rioja into the region of Castilla y León.
An area Mustang owners’ club is displaying a collection of a dozen or so classics in the plaza mayor as part of the May Labor Day weekend celebration.
Just down from my albergue, I found the first church for the village. At the top of the cliff behind it are the ruins of the original castle. To the left of the church, you might make out windows in the cliff side, evidencing use of old tunnels and defensive position for contemporary homes. And bonus: there are for nesting storks on the church.
I noticed a number of local men heading out of the Camino part of town and down a small street. I followed and found myself in the plaza mayor where I also discovered . . .
A car show! A dozen or so classic Mustangs. I’m assuming this part of the May Day/Labor Day fiesta. What I know for certain is that *this* is why I like to go exploring.
Looking out from the ruins of the castle, I spotted the marble quarry. It is the primary economic foundation of the area.
Only 531 k to Santiago, mas o menos.
The beginning of a long day . . .
To my friends in Itasca, this looks like a forestry road, no?
Out of nowhere appeared this monument to a dozen or so disaparecidos – “the Disappeared” – people who were taken away by Generalísimo Franco’s followers in 1936 and never seen again, until their remains were discovered near here a few years ago.
Another stretch of the Camino that reminded me of our forest roads in northern Itasca County, Minnesota.
Off in the distance you may make out the top of the monastery at San Juan de Ortega (St. John of the Nettles). San Juan was a disciple of Santo Domingo de Calzada and carried on a similar ministry of aiding pilgrims as they crossed the mountains here. Back in the day, it was easy to get lost, the woods were thick with thieves eager to prey on pilgrims, and many – including yours truly – we’re weak and sick. The hostel is famous for serving a dinner of garlic soup to its guests.
Thought Experiment: You are outfitting the municipal albergue in Agés to provide a safe place for pilgrims to bathe, sleep, and prepare for the next day’s journey. At what place on your list do you include “elliptical stairmaster”. And btw, my bed for the night is the lower bunk in the left. It was a splendid albergue, with good showers, excellent beds, and satisfying food at the bar. Muy comodo.
Only 531 kilometers to Santiago. Mas o menos.
On the road by 7:30 a.m. Slacker.
Apparently, people oppose fracking here, too. Bravo.
Sheep may safely graze. Especially behind a good fence.
The large wooden cross near the top of the mountain near Olmos.
Roughly translated: “Once the pilgrim has crested the mountains of Navarra and seen the expansive fields of Spain, he has never enjoyed a sight more beautiful than this.”
I get it.
And brilliant design to make the lettering negative space against the sky.
At the peak of today’s climb, we are rewarded with our first glimpse of Burgos and the Meseta beyond it. Still hours of walking ahead, but what an encouragement!
This part of the Camino travels alongside the security fence of the Burgos airport.
Pausing to enjoy this river, which will lead me into Burgos. Really want to wade in at this point.
The approach to Burgos follows the river through a beautiful and busy urban park for miles.
Striking sculpture across the street from the Museum of Human Evolution.
My first glimpse of the cathedral outside the historic center of Burgos.
A city fountain along the river and across the Museum of Human Evolution. Archeological sites in the area, like Atapuerca, provide interesting stories about human origins.
I sat here for ten minutes or so to rest and reflect before crossing through the city wall to the cathedral. A cool sunlit afternoon, slight breeze, songbirds, fountains, voices of conversation in various languages, and then from a source unseen, a recorded violin rendition of Ave Maria slips through the hedge. Moments you just show up for.
The source of the music was this puppeteer/busker.
This sight greeted me as I entered the Plaza de Los Reyes. Shortly after this, Andy greeted me with the offer of a seat and a cold cerveza. Me gusta.
Commiserating with the iconic bronze sculpture of a worn-out peregrino, with traditional staff, gourd, and little else. You need only consider this poor guy to realize your day was fine.
This is cochinillo asado – roasted suckling pig. Along with morcilla, it is a specialty in Burgos, and for good reason.
My friend for a few kilometers descending the mountain to the plain of Burgos.
Classic never goes out of style.
When I stood to leave the little park and find the source of the music, I discovered this . . .
The Arcos de Santa Maria served as the main entry into the medieval walled city. The rooms above the arched entry also served as the town hall for a time, and now house a museum gallery.
Detail from a door at Burgos cathedral.
Things I would bring home to my friends (if I wouldn’t have to carry them on my back across half of Spain . . .). Jars of delicious white asparagus, big slabs of jamón, olive oils, cheeses, and my new favorite, morcilla.
Morcilla is a Spanish blood sausage made with blood, pork, rice, and spices. Don’t make that face. It’s good!
Hey, MGR – a glimpse of us when we revisit Burgos in 25 years. Like my hat?
I find at least one Irish pub in any European city of any size I go to. Not the Lucky Charms nonsense too prevalent in the US, but real Guiness-slinging joints with pub food. For visiting football fans? Touristas? I don’t yet know.
This peregrino has a distinct advantage. From a chapel inside the Burgos cathedral.
Another thing I like about exploring in Europe. Go into a cathedral, glance over walls and chapels filled with not much. Then, turn the corner and find daVinci’s “St. Mary Magdalene” from the early 1500s. (In collaboration with Giovan Pietro Rizzoli, according to the curator.)
The outside of the Burgos cathedral far exceeds the inside, in my opinion. Not always the case with cathedrals (see St. John the Lateran in Rome).
This particular peregrina appears to have a distinct advantage.
A bit of street art in Burgos. An abandoned bicicleta painted white and left in place.
Have slice! Legs of Serrano ham ready to serve in paper-thin slices. I don’t like it as well as Prosciutto de Parma, but it’s still delicious.
Leaving the old city of Burgos through a gate in the wall.
If you saw the movie, The Way, you may recognize this as the gate where Martin Sheen and companions parted ways with the Roma father and son.
Not every kilometer of the Camino is unusual or noteworthy. But nearly all of it is simply the street in someone’s town. It is at once common and extraordinary.
Check out the snails climbing these stalks.
This sign is in Tardajos outside of Burgos. Looking at the map, that puts me at almost halfway to Santiago.
It just keeps going on, doesn’t it? A perfect place for renewing solitude.
More Meseta. Well have this for several days.
The Meseta is a huge expanse of flat-topped mesas that range for a hundred miles or more between Burgos and Leon. Few trees and not many fountains. But lots and lots of wheat.
Hundreds of these prayer rocks stand beside the path all along the way.
A creative gesture by those who have passed this way before me.
A long road to walk before I can stop. My goal in Hontanas.
If you see a fork in the road. . .
This is a good example of why it’s important to look up frequently. An obvious turn to the left, but easy to miss because the road looks so similar each way.
The only one I’ve seen, so far, but this emergency patrol showed up checking for lost, injured, or dehydrated peregrinos.
Marta. Hardest working woman in the albergue business. She registered guests, did the laundry, poured the beer, served the meals, and had a wicked sense of humor. Brava, Marta!
Classic moment as six adults, all but one over age 50, go silent to check messages, the weather, and whatever else. We may have already become our parents, but now we are becoming our children.
Our salon group for much of the afternoon. Five or six countries represented. Marta, one of the hospitaleros a who run the albergue, looks to be dancing, but she was attempting to leap out of the frame. Sort of a reverse photo bomb? Very kind and a great sense of humor.
Was sitting with friends over a glass of tinto when this sunset arrived.
Eila gets the shot. I sent this to her with the note, “Your expression of determination and concentration tells the world that you are a woman not to be trifled with. If that means Michael must serve as tripod, well then, so be it. Well done.”
I also wonder what the guy in the left is thinking . . . “Hmm, why didn’t I think of that?”
Looking back toward Hontanas to catch the sunrise.
The sun’s just up, and I’m about 3 kilometers on my way.
These are part of the ruins of a 12th century hospital and monastery. Note the Templar crosses and insignia. This site was run by the Knights Templar, who were a strong presence thought this area.
That’s the town of Castrojeriz at the base of the hill. The castle ruins are much older than the town, as locating the town on the valley floor – and out of the wind – suggests that it was built at a time when comfort and easier access to farmland and water sources were more important than security.
Wild flowers on the way into Castrojeriz.
A view of the castillo ruins viewed from the town of Castrojeriz. The current remains date from the 14th and 15th centuries, but previous battlements on the site were Roman, then Visigoth.
Look closely – or open and zoom the photo – and you’ll see the Camino goes across that valley and up the side of that mesa in the distance. A good start to the morning.
Yikes.
The hardest part of this day was the straight descent at a 12% incline. It’s brutal on the toes, knees, and hips. But what a view.
I encountered this shepherd and flock just before I entered Boadillo.
One of the sleeping rooms at the Boadillo albergue. As in most albergues so far, sleeping rooms, showers, and bathrooms are shared by men and women. (Even convents and monasteries often have shared sleeping rooms, although the showers and W.C.s are usually separate.
Friends I met on the road, as we gathered at the Boadillo albergue. Kneeling: Damien (Australia) and Sue (Denmark). Standing: Martin (Belgium), ??? (Belgium), me, and Helmut (Austria, but now retired in Las Vegas).
The albergue at Boadillo was a walled enclosure. Inside was a garden of delights: laundry sinks and drying lines, sculpture and other art, a bar with ice-cold cervezas, and a grassy lawn.
I found this stone baptistery inside the 12th-century church at Boadillo. One of a few times on the trip that I missed carrying a camera that would do justice to the shot.
Storks nesting atop the 12th-century church at Boadillo.
A full-service hospitalero at the albergue in Boadillo. After serving dinner, he offered to bandage this peregrina’s blisters, while taking a call from another pilgrim looking for a bed.
A 360* video on the Meseta.
Waterworks on the way to Carrión de Los Condes.
Long sections of this stage run alongside the local highway.
Wild roses along the roadside.
Cuckoo bird
I liked this. First road sign I’d seen warning drivers that this is a peregrino zone.
The pilgrim sculpture at the entrance to the town of Carrión de Los Condes. Traditional symbols include the cloak and broad-brimmed hat (protection from sun and rain, the staff (aid in walking and, for the more assertive peregrino, defense against hooligans), the gourd (to carry water), and the scallop shell (to signify to others that one is a pilgrim on the way to Santiago). Today’s pilgrims still carry a version of each of these, including the scallop shell secured to our backpacks.
One of the men’s sleeping rooms at the albergue hosted by the Espiritu Santo convent in Carrión de Los Condes.
Boots get stored on a rack near the door to help keep the sleeping areas clean.
Québécoise I met at a stop for coffee and pastry. When I learned they were from Quebec, I told them that ma femme is studying a Le Cordon Bleu. They were delighted. “The French cuisine really is the best, don’t you agree?,” asserted one. “Eh, oui,” I replied, throwing my best Gallic shrug. Immediate street cred.
Yikes.
The pilgrim blessing service at Iglesia Santa Maria in Carrión de los Condes. The priest lays hands on each person, prays for them, and blesses them.
Only 455 k to go. Will cross the halfway point in distance sometime today.
A gallon of gas is about $5.50.
Welcome encouragement on a tree beside the road.
A brief bit of shade along the way.
More to go.
More to go.
And yet more to go.
Relaxing at the end of the day’s walk. An albergue at Terradillos de Templarios.
The gracious and welcoming sisters of the convent albergue Espiritu Santo.
Photo courtesy Flikr user Toxotoma.
A small labyrinth created in found stones at a rest stop.
Alfonzo VI, a king of León. But no, not those Kings of Leon: KingsofLeon.com
The marker asserting Sahagún as the halfway point of the Camino Frances. Sahagún is also where the Camino Madrid joins the Camino Frances.
Ruins of the monastery of San Fagun and San Primitivo in Sahagún. Much of the structure was destroyed by wars in the 19th century.
And this stall offers canned tuna and bonito, as well as jars of white asparagus.
The fruit vendor at the Saturday morning market in Sahagún.
A stall in Sahagún offering a diversified product line of salt fish and dried beans.
Santiago a mere 315 kms to go, más o menos. The hand-lettered advisory above the stone notes that Hamburg is 1,670 kms and Budapest is 1,980 kms. Because the more you know . . .
These sweetly fragrant trees lined much of the path leading out of Sahagún. One of the women working at the albergue later in the day told me these were “jamin” – jasmine.
Mile from anything, a sudden overpass to cross a rail line.
Out of nowhere, the path rose to cross the railroad coming out of Sahagún. This one was carrying coal.
Wild lavender along the roadside.
After an eight mile walk under a hot, cloudless sky and nothing but fields or scrub forest, there appeared a tiny wayside park with a natural spring fountain: a “Fuente del Peregrino.”
Now, here’s a great spot for a private picnic, perhaps with a nap.
This was one of my favorite shrubs today.
A freshly plowed field. Sure, they’re everywhere. But look at that crisp horizon.
In Sahagún. While waiting for the phone store to open so that I could renew my SIM card, I had a chocolate croissant and cafe au lait – the best I’ve tasted since leaving Paris. A sign in the window read “Nous parlons le français ici.” Jacques, behind the counter, was delighted with my Spanish and to tell me about the town. He also told me to enjoy the market in the plaza mayor out front, but to be careful. “It is not dangerous, but some people have sticky fingers. Guard your pockets.”
When we walked out of the church in Calzeda de los Hermanillos, we found this waiting for us.
I found this interesting house walking back the albergue after a pilgrim service in Calzeda de los Hermanillos.
We’re about to leave the pavement to enter the Via Trajana.
Entering the Calzada Romana, or Via Trajana, one of the best-preserved extents of Roman road in Spain. This was a military and trade route that connected the region of Bordeaux, France with Astorga, Spain.
This part of Spain is largely denuded of trees. In certain areas, there is evidence of efforts at reforestation.
Have seen many poppies along the road, but this is the first field. Just outside of Mansilla.
I caught up with Andy, Dana, and other friends from Orrison in León. A third of the day we spend walking the Camino. Another third,we spend talking about it, usually over cervezas or tintos.
The old city wall on the west side of Mansilla.
This is the typical desayuno – breakfast – enjoyed by peregrinos before getting on the road. Espresso or café con leche, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast or croissant.
The first time I’ve seen a stork on the ground. It was wading through this patch of grass as if it were a pond.
Took this just for the fun of it. Carolina Motor, a car dealership outside of León that could just as easily be located in my hometown of Greensboro, North Carolina in the U.S.
“Educational quality = Intellectual quality.” Perhaps, but I’m not sure the causal relationship proves a strict one. Even so, I appreciate the intent to elevate the level of public discourse through graffiti.
A section of the Roman wall that once surrounded the city of León.
My first real-life encounter with a building by Modernist architect Antoni Gaudi. He is most famous for the cathedral in Barcelona. This one in León was built as a house in the early 1890s and is now used by the bank Caja España. He also designed the Episcopal Palace in Astorga, where I will be a few days from now.
My first look at the cathedral in León. Will visit inside tomorrow.
Found an excellent sombreroria while exploring León. The shopkeeper was delighted to learn that I live in St. Louis. “My sister lives in Springfield!,” she told me in Spanish, and proceeded to show me photos of her family. She allowed me to practice my Spanish and told me more hoping to visit her sister next year. Even so, no special discount for pilgrims. But the price was good, the hat is fine, and I’m happy to have a Panama again.
It was so good to catch up with Dana and Andy. Lost the chance to walk together when I took an extra day to explore Burgos. I’m hanging back again to explore León, so I’ll hope to see them again in Santiago.
A glass of toro and a tapas. Perfect.
Tapas are always served on a slice of toast. The idea is to place the tapas on the wine glass to keep out the flies. What keeps the flies off the tapas?
Go away.
Entering El Corte Ingles. Need it? It’s here.
Rising like an oasis, El Corte Ingles is a *huge* department store that carries! well, everything. Groceries, sporting goods, clothing, pharmacy, electronics, phone and SIM card renewals – if you need it, they have it. Locations in every major city in northern Spain.
A welcome sign for a pilgrim in need of supplies . . .
The Puerto Moneda, where the Camino enters the historic center of old León.
There are several long expanses of the original Roman wall around the city. This portion shows both the outer (to the right) and inner walls.
This was originally a Roman market square near the city wall. Now, it is the Plaza Santa Maria del Camino. Behind me is the biggest albergue in León, home to more than 100 pilgrims every night.
The Dalai Lama says, “Gibralter libre, baby!”
I happened upon this news conference pertaining to yesterday’s murder of León top official Isabel Carrasco. I delayed visiting the interior of the cathedral, and then lost my opportunity. The cathedral closed in the afternoon as the entire city leadership gathered for Carrasco’s funeral mass.
To end a good day, I had dinner and a nice bottle of Toro with friends Andy (Australia), Sue, Damian, his wife Linda, and his daughter Seraphina.
If you liked my earlier interpretations of the Eiffel Tower while in Paris, perhaps you will enjoy this take on the cathedral of León, Spain.
A stream of local and national dignitaries stream into the cathedral for the funeral mass of Isabel Carrasco, the head of the province of León. She had been murdered the previous day, apparently for personal reasons, not political.
A gate in the old Roman city wall behind the cathedral in León
Off to sleep as the moon rises over the Plaza Mayor.
As I left León, vendors were setting up market day in the Plaza Mayor. Wednesday and Saturday mornings.
A famous image from the Camino. The statue of a resting pilgrim, in front of the Parador León. If you saw the movie “The Way,” that’s where Martin Sheen and company enjoyed a night in the luxurious hotel. (I tried. It was booked solid.)
Hobbits!
A red heart on a blue door. I don’t know. I liked it. It may be one of my favorite images so far. Kind of sums up my Camino, so far.
Those snow-peaked mountains have been to my right – north – the entire trip. Now they are staying in front of me. Can’t be good. Surely the Celts, Romans, and centuries of pilgrims figured a way out of this.
What are these called? Whimsies? Playful weather vanes on a village building.
I stopped at a bar cafe in a village along the way for a limonada and bathroom break. The men’s room facilities were old school. For the easy stuff, it’s just point and shoot. For more complicated matters, a guy turns around, steps on the foot pads, and squats. I assume that the empty fixture on the wall might be a great place to store paper products of some kind, if the need ever arose. Heh.
And here is the ladies room. Much more dignified. Except for the empty roll of paper.
This is a flowing stream. Those are thousands of tiny white flowers blossoming on an aquatic plant I’ve never seen. I’ll ask . . .
The common room in my albergue today. Free herbal teas, a mediation area, and lots of Bob Dylan on the stereo. Can’t wait to try the brownies.
Afternoons at the albergue, after walking anywhere from 15 to 20 miles that morning, often involve beer or tinto with friends while watching other pilgrims come in. No beer or wine at my vegetarian-eating, Bob Dylan-playing commune, so Inhelped the hosts with this project. Primarily by consulting Google as to how to do it.
Beginning to come together! I suspect this will be available as additional sleeping quarters. Appeals to my inner 12-year old.
Our host serenades us before the excellent vegetarian meal his wife prepared.
Another good sunset to end the day . . .
Checking in at the albergue. Recording national passport information, getting the sillo stamp on the pilgrim credential, and paying the fee. Usually between €5 to €10 for a bed for one night.
Out the door at dawn, so got to see the full moon setting in front of me while the risen sun was behind me. Even saw alpenglow on the mountains, but my travel camera wouldn’t do it justice.
Look closely at these mud cliffs and you may see dozens of holes in the face. Each of these appeared to be home to swifts. The camera didn’t catch them, but there were hundreds in the air, going in and out of the openings.
The road today has often been lined with wild lavender.
The crest of another hill, there is the city of Astorga in the distance.
The city of Astorga is known more for its excellent chocolate and the 1880s Episcopal Palace designed by architect Antoni Gaudi. You may get a sense of Gaudi’s modernist flare from the unusual beveled arches at the entrance to the building at lower right.
The rear of the cathedral at Astorga.
The Camino has lots of advice to offer. Discernment is key.
Because neither of us is likely to have seen a grape purple Mercedes van before – or is likely to again. Savor this moment.
The terrain is changing back to foothills as I leave the Meseta and prepare to cross the mountains in a few days.
A view to the southwest from the village of Santa Catalina de Samoza.
These look like flox, and take hold along roof tiles and crevices in walls of abandoned rock houses.
Out by dawn, and another spectacular view of the moon setting over the mountains.
It is common for peregrinos to fall behind or move ahead. Some leave notes for those that follow. On rocks. On paper. No scissors, that I know of.
The path today was lined almost the entire way by wild lavender. Instant aromatherapy just by reaching down and rubbing the blossoms.
I was feeling really strong and proud of myself for my intention to do another 30k day today. The. This guy passed me. Running. Up the mountain.
Ass.
Humility restored.
Uberlinda Cortes. She was 63 years old when she died. Apparently, right here, on her second Camino. Ultreia et sus eia, Uberlinda.
Gaining a little altitude again. This begins the crossing of two mountain ranges that separate Castilla y León from Galicia.
One of the more renowned spots along the Camino Frances. This is the Cruz de Ferro. Here, each pilgrim traditionally leaves a stone s/he has brought along on the pilgrimage. The stone may mean little or everything. I saw one older couple sitting in the grass to one side, holding each other and sobbing. What meaning did this moment have for them? What had they just left on this cairn built up over millennia, or at the foot of this cross?
The spot was “Christianized” a few centuries ago, but the cairn has been here much longer. First Celtic settlers, then Roman soldiers, memorialized this spot by placing more stones on the pile. Building cairns is a means of marking significance found throughout the world and as far back in time as humans have been making meaning.
When my time came to add to the cairn, I left two items. The first was a shell, collected in the Carribean and given to me in Bigfork, Minnesota. The second, and most dear, was a stone my wife and I picked up together in the garden beside Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. We have been in this together from the start.
Views like this are in every direction.
I’ve spent most of the last several days walking alone. It has been a true gift. To be in this near-wilderness with no one else near. I love solitude. There is fullness in it.
A helpful reference point? For me, the important datum here is “222 Km.” That means about 8 – 10 days left to Santiago. Mas o menos.
Stocked with bottles of water, some juices, and Aquarius (Gatorade’s brand in Spain), this little stand in unstaffed and strictly donativo – pay whatever you wish, on the honor system.
This is a real place.
Close to my stop for the day at Acebo. Off in the distance, about 12 miles away, is Ponferrada.
This is the spot where I found my father again.
One reason I am walking this Camino is to remember and honor my father. I am age 55, the age he was when he died of pancreatic cancer in 1984.
Ten years before that, Dad went with my Scout troop on a camping trip to Mt. Mitchell, North Carolina. Mitchell is the highest peak east of the Mississippi. He accompanied a small group of us on a backpacking side trip to a shelter several miles from where the troop was camping. The terrain was rugged and the weather was deteriorating, with sleet beginning to hit us head-on. About halfway out my father, a “former” Marine but a heavy smoker, told us he couldn’t go on. We made our way back to a covered shelter and settled in as best we could out of the ice storm. A few hours later, park rangers took us down to the parking area to sleep in the cars until morning. It was an adventure I shared with my Dad. It was also the first time I remember seeing him physically vulnerable. Ten years later, I saw him that way again as he lay dying in a hospital bed. His hands still looked strong, and it is those hands I often see when I think of him.
Today, at this spot on the mountain, my father joined me on this Camino. The terrain is almost identical to where we were on Mt. Mitchell. But today, in what felt like a vision, my father suddenly strode along beside me. Strong. Silent. Smiling.
Another sunrise in paradise.
Entering the medieval town of Diego de Ambrós. Roofs of dark slate have replaces the red tile roofs of Navarra, Rioja, and Castilla y León.
Yesterday’s uphill climb now offers today’s downhill slide over a steep descent and sharp, loose shale.
Memorial to P. Joseph Carty, who,died in this spot on the Camino. It is impossible to know why these people died or whether or not they died? All we know is that they died walking to Santiago. We honor them as we pass.
No land in Spain seems wasted. These lots had multiple plots of vegetable gardens, each being tended by elderly gardeners. Lettuce, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, . . .
A coffee and tea shop in Ponferrada. Took this especially for MGR and the daughters. Go Divaahhhhh.
Entrance to the huge Templar castle in Ponferrada. That’s a working drawbridge in front of you. Enter that gate, and you face yet another wall with ramparts and archer ports. Don’t mess with the Templars. Hey MGR, we need to add “working drawbridge” to the punch list.
The clock tower in the historic section of Ponferrada.
A bit of religious art along the way. A mosaic dedicated to Santa Maria de Campostella.
C’mon, Frank. Take a chance.
Vineyard appeared again today. These are tended differently than those in Navarra or Rioja. According to my compañero Andy Byers, “This is the base of the Bierzo wine region. Reds come from the Mencia grape and whites primarily from Godello.”
In a poppel grove (quaking aspen) where e ground is white with a two-inch blanket of pollen down. I began to get a headache just standing there.
Bagpipe lessons. Must be getting close to Galicia.
While enjoying a paella at this cafe, a crowd gathered next door to greet painter José Carralero. His exposition opened this week at the museum.
Gentlemen, this has not come up before, so a tutorial seems important. Stainless steel bowl on left: a sink. The stainless steel bowl on the right: a urinal. A difference that matters.
There are four toilets. There is one roll of toilet paper. On the wall outside of all the stalls. Please plan accordingly. And good luck.
Now there’s an idea. . .
An artisanal queseria (cheese-vendor). Unfortunately, it is Sunday morning, so the shop is closed.
If it were ten degrees warmer, I’d jump in. A perfect “swimming hole” in the river beside the Camino.
Looking back to Villafranca and it’s early 16th-century castillo.
Pilgrim statue in Villafranca.
The Roman bridge leading out of Villafranca.
Remember the Scotch Broom plants on the Meseta? Here is one being used as a broom by a municipal street worker in Villafranca.
Approaching the town of Villafranca (“French Town”). The landscape here reminds me a great deal of Buncombe and Madison Counties, North Carolina. Same low mountains, the constant sound of rocky streams, and little farms tucked into coves.
On the way out of Cacabelos. By the time I stop today, I expect to pare,that distance to Santiago by another 30 Km.
Hmmm . . . Maybe not.
It was both jarring and awe-inspiring to come across these spans after walking through villages of stone huts and cobblestone streets only minutes before. These bridges cross the mountain valleys for Spain’s equivalent of interstate highways.
These little yellow arrows spray-painted on sidewalks, trees, buildings, and here – on the end of a guardrail – are the primary guides for Camino pilgrims in the wilderness as well as the cities. Nothing gives more comfort than the assurance of spotting one of these up ahead.
A donativo stand. A few oranges were left, with a small basket for donations.
Chris and Katy emerging into the light after a steep muddy section.
Is it just me, or does this tree look like one of the angry apple trees in The Wizard of Oz?
Springs and yesterday’s rain made this section of the walk deep with lush, aromatic mud.
Much of today’s walk was cloudy, but there were moments of open sky and open vistas.
The deep cut of the Camino on much of today’s walk offered a mystical feel.
We found this marker directing peregrinos on a short detour to an artist’s studio. He made sand paintings using crushed rock of various colors. He used material gathered locally, as well as from South America.
One of numerous small stone footbridges that cross streams or springs.
In the last day or so, it hasn’t been unusual to see farmers moving their herds to pasture.
The Camino path in this area is often below grade – lower than the surround fields. Although this may obscure the views much of the time, it also helps us stay out of the wind and rain.
It looks crowded. It is. One of the best albergues I stayed in but we were packed in closely at night.
I have now entered Galicia. Spelling, pronunciation, music, food, and ethnic heritage changes dramatically again. This was a Celtic land well before the Romans arrived. The music and other cultural threads still bear witness. The independent spirit may be as strong here as in the Basque region of Navarre.
Friends Chris and Irene powering up a hill. We’re getting good at this.
Another great view into the valleys of Galicia.
The path took us through a beautiful section of pine forest along the ridge line of the mountain.
After emerging from the pine forest, we found this marker and cairn.
Crossing over another small mountain ridge, this one measuring 1,270 meters – or just under 4,000 feet – above sea level.
We saw stone churches I two places today with sprigs of tiny purple flowers in the crevices.
Dark humor on one of the mileage markers.
It is difficult to see the steep incline here, but this is the last section of a long climb as steep as a stairway. Behind where I stood to take photo is a bar/cafe the does a brisk business with hungry and thirsty pilgrims.
This proud fellow crowed throughout our lunch stop at a place near Alto do Poio.
A little ways after crossing past O Cebreiro, I get my first vista of Galicia.
In Ocebreiro. About a half hour earlier, I’d met this kind Franciscan in the church, stamping sillos in pilgrim credentials and answering questions.
Looking out my window in Sarria. It’s a rainy evening in Sarria with more on the way. The next few days are likely to be wet. This is the first rainy weather we’ve had since the third day out (Zubiri), so I have no complaints. My poncho is eager to serve.
Looking back over Sarria as we walk on in the rain.
Our group for the day making a crossing beside one of many streams along the way.
After weeks of sun and warm weather, Galicia gives us the traditional welcome of cold, windy rain. It’s a chance to practice gratitude? It also justifies having packed rain gear.
I found these unusual structures at every farm and many rural homes we passed. About six feet tall, ten feet long, and two feet wide, with side of wood slats or pierced brick, and some ornamentation at the top. I need to research these more, but local residents say they use them to store ears of corn.
Chris and Irene, two of my sometime companions since Orisson, stopping to grab some gear.
This brillian solution channels a spring-fed stream down a hill while channeling up intrepid peregrinos.
I really like The Walking Dead reference chalked in smaller letters at top right.
It may be wet and muddy, but the path has beauty.
This cross was decorated with shirts, necklaces, hats, photos, and an intriguing number of underpants.
These two women were driving small flocks of sheep and dairy cattle along the road.
Chops on the hoof. Don’t judge me.
Walking the Camino,with a donkey seems gratuitously challenging, but this Frenchman seemed up to it.
Did I mention we’ve had a lot of rain?
Them!
And then we had rain . . .
A good surprise was finding several groves of eucalyptus trees.
Starting our dinner in Melide with an order of spiced boiled octopus – pulpo. A specialty in Town, and really good. Especially with cold beer after a day of cold rain and eight hours of walking.
Two of today’s compañeras Katie and Irene, pleased about the pulpo. Irene’s husband Chris is beside me and so out of frame, happily consuming a big bowl of Galician soup.
Friends Irene and Chris ford another stream after leaving Melide. Shaky camera operator, but you get the idea.
One of my favorite pieces of graffiti art lately. Honor. Strength. Courage.
Eucalyptus trees are a cash crop in this region. We passed through several stands today. Some were relatively recent growth, like this one. Others were much taller and older. I saw evidence of logging and replanting that reminded me of poppel/aspen forestry in Itasca County, Minnesota.
The powers that be require only that a peregrino complete the last 100Km of the Camino in order to receive the Compostella certificate. (For how some peregrinos who crossed the Pyrenees feel about that, and the appropriate response, see Matthew 20: 1-16.) This prim young peregrina came equipped with purse and paragua. Style never goes out of fashion.
Katie Fosselman and I turned a corner in time to see this tour bus disgorge its load of touregrinos. It’s another way to experience short sections of the Camino, I suppose. For all I know, these people are transplant patients or cancer survivors on their own heroic journeys. I might seem like a piker to the couple who passed me yesterday. They have been on the pilgrimage for three months, having started from their home in Belgium. Everyone walks his or her own Camino.
Passing through a grove of large eucalyptus trees.
Look! A large concrete monument thingy with a random assemblage of Camino symbols. Quick, take a picture!
A group of pilgrim day-trippers – touregrinos – lines up to stamp their credentials.
Yours truly at the pilgrim statue in Monte del Gozo.
Clever. I passed this bus stop on the way out of Santa Irene. The design recalls that of the corn cribs that grace very home and farm in the region.
The albergue where I’m staying outside of Santiago tonight. Has real 1960s East Germany vibe.
My first sighting of the cathedral in Santiago, still about five miles away, from Monte del Gozo. You can just make out the spires in the center distance. The statue is a now-famous one on the Camino, depicting (you guessed it) peregrinos sighting the cathedral of Santiago for the first time.
The smoking incense of the botafumeiro just before they raise it and begin to swing. It covers an arc across the full width of the apse in the cathedral of Santiago, going to near horizontal before plunging back down and across.
Made even more famous to Americans by the movie, “The Way.” The botafumeiro is a thurible, an urn containing smoking incense that is swung in the sanctuary to disperse the sweet-smelling smoke. In this case, the botafumeiro is a huge silver version and us swung across the full expanse of the cathedral apse by a group of skilled men. This three minute video shows what I saw at the first service.
Enjoying a few moments at the end of the day over the only food available at Monte de Gozo: grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of apples. And potato chips. And beer. Good company makes any meal better.
We left Monte de Gozo at about 7:00 a.m. and arrived at the cathedral in Santiago about an hour later. We were the only ones in the plaza. An hour later, it would begin filling with arriving pilgrims and tour groups.
“K-A-T- . . .” Fellow pilgrim and superb Camino compañera Katie Fosselman receiving her Compostella, as the line of new arrivals begins to build outside.
A volunteer at the cathedral of Santiago prepares my Compostella, or certificate of completing the Camino de Santiago.
A Franciscan brother issues the certificates commemorating the 800th anniversary of the Camino pilgrimage by St. Francis of Assisi.
Much of the walk between Santiago and Negreira went through eucalyptus forest, with foxglove lining the path.
