A ten day adventure in Northern Spain, in an area called Galicia. Despite months of planning, it feels like this trip roared up to us as we were still doing last minute packing till the last moment. I could probably write pages (wait, I did in a journal!) but surmise it to say, it was an experience of a lifetime. Walking the Camino Ingles, while touted as the ‘easier’ routes, it was challenging for us. I feel we were provided the full pilgrimage experience – blisters, bug bites, sunshine, heat, and rain – as well as many of those reflective moments where you are in awe of the beauty around you, filled with gratitude and reminded of humility. The gift of shade, a cup of coffee, a friendly “buen camino” gives hope and encouragement.
We did know that we were not good candidates to do the albergue (hostels for pilgrams) so we made hotel arrangements and had a one bag-transfer managed for us. That said, these accommodations could be 0.75 – 1.5 miles from the Camino path, which added more walking time. Arriving at the end of day 3 into Bentanzos, all good humor had left me. We arrived into town on a very steep, cobblestone street… cross the bridge, over the river, only to find out our hotel was still another .75 miles, uphill and the sun was beginning to set. We found our hotel, and realized that the dinner accommodations that were part of our package was offsite, about another .25-.50 miles. 15 miles that day, I felt stinky and tired, and hungry. A quick shower energized me enough to run back downhill to a deli and buy a bag, ingredients for a chacuterie dinner and gourmet chips. Picnic on our hotel bed. We earned it, deserved it. Watching Big Bang Theory or Blue Bloods in Spanish or the BCC News (when available) was a way to chill out. We slept hard.
Midway, we had to have a down day. A day to rest our bodies, settle some upset stomachs and do some laundry. I was disappointed but realized that if we didn’t rest, we would likely need to quit altogether before getting to Santiago. Paul was starting a cold too. We found a laundromat nearby and what joy to have clean, dry clothes! These washers had an automatic detergent drop in, which I’m sure contributes to better maintenance and convenience for customers. I am convinced that the entire country uses the same detergent, as we could smell the same wonderful scent in the sheets and laundry hanging on the line. Folks seem to use washers all over Europe, and use the dryer sparingly, hanging out clothes for the final drying.
We saw so many fields of corn, fruit trees, (some fruit was even left out specifically for pilgrims) eucalyptus trees, hyacinth bushes and countless numbers of flowers, shrubs and greenery. The terrain was a mix of cobblestone streets, asphalt, to muddy trails, rocky, pebbly paths. Having good shoes, a hat was essential.
To compensate for the down day, we did have to take a cab ( 16 minutes!) to rejoin the Camino Walk. We started off again, rested and in a better place mentally, and finished in Santiago de Compostella mid afternoon, a few days later. Our eyes just welled up with tears as we passed through the black portal, the entry gate to the plaza in front of the Cathedral in Santiago. A bagpiper played in the portal, echoing, to encourage pilgrims to come. Pilgrims just sat, laid down, stood in shock and awe, that they had made it. We felt the same.
Coming home from Spain was a bit of hoof. We checked out of our hotel, headed to the airport with plenty of time, to encounter a delay. Our plane was late and we would miss our connecting flight. Paul hopped on the phone with Iberia Airlines (IA) and tried to find us another way home. It looked like we could fly from Santiago to Amsterdan, then on to Bordeaux…and then the phone line went dead. Someone had hung up. The boarding call for the now late flight had been announced. So we flew on to Madrid, only to find out when we landed that the Amsterdam leg had been approved! AUGH. Now we learn that our connecting flight was also delayed but they had already sold our seats. So here we are, stuck in Madrid till the next day, when the first flight is at 7am. So… 15 hours. Can we leave the airport? IA offered us a meal and an offsite hotel. While we ate the meal (offered at the airport) we pondered whether to go offsite. So much could go wrong going offsite, and we absolutely could not miss the 7am flight.
Luckily, Madrid airport has an Aerotel, an on-site hotel in the airport. And they had an available room. It’s literally 4 white walls, shower, toilet, bed and tv. There is access to coffee and tea. And its clean. Exactly what we needed. Grateful that while we didn’t get home as we had planned (we also didn’t have access to our luggage), we were safe, we were together and had a place to rest.
The next morning, we literally walked up the stairs, waited at the gate, hopped on a shuttle bus that took us on the tarmack to the plane. These short flights literally have you climb up steep stairs in the front of the plane. You can take a purse or a backpack in the plane, but all suitcases of any size are put in the plane’s hold. The plane, the seats , the aisles are quite narrow. Two seats on each side of the aisle. No drinks, no snacks. The suitcases are then pulled off at the end of the flight and lined up for you to pick up on the tarmack.
A “souvenir” we seem to have acquired from our travels is a cold or allergies of the worst kind. Now on its on second week, it endures. French mouchoirs (Kleenex) is rough and I’m missing the fancy Kleenex with lotion back in California. I pulled out of my French class after the first day because I didn’t want to get others sick and I really didn’t have the energy. Sigh.
Do you ever think about where your food comes from? I was curious to take a deeper dive into the produce at my local Aldi’s as I reached for end of season blueberries (myrtille) and realized they were coming from Zimbabwe! Avocados (avocats) from Kenya and pomellos from South Africa. Living in Europe, it wasn’t a surprise to see produce sourced from Spain, Portugal, other parts of France. Like the US, France is required to state where the produce is sourced, for ‘authenticity and quality’. Not sure exactly what that means, do you? But it is kind of fascinating to think about the path my bananas or bok choi has taken to get here. Interestingly, finding cilantro is not that easy to find. Only at Mexican restaurants, we are often asked if its okay to include cilantro (coriandre). So there must be a secret pipeline in order to get it. Jalapeño peppers are also a mystery – we have yet to find any in France… Can you tell I’m desparate for California Mexican food?
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