All the blogs I should have written by now in one.

I have developed a respect for people who can blog while travelling. So much has happened and I don't even know how to begin putting it into words. By Pamplona we had become part of a very solid camino family. 

Graham and Anto - two best friends from Ireland.

Graham our commander general, a driven & ambitious individual with a heart of gold under his no nonsense exterior. Anto a well balanced counterpart with a heart to match Graham's, except hers is embroidered on her sleeve in neon thread you can see from space.  

I am confident that it was the tone created by the two of them that kept such a large group of us together for so long. Sadly we lost Anto to the real world in Burgos when she returned home, and no word of a lie, Graham is now at the very least, 200km ahead of us. We have reconnected with other members of the family in the journey from Burgos to Leon. Sara - from New Mexico, smashing out 30 days and going for a run in the evening. 

Roly from Montana, our camino heart & soul. One of the most genuine people I've ever had the honour to meet, with an appreciation for life I find remarkable for a 21 year old. 

James, a fashionably handsome Irish father figure who pushes himself forward through affliction after affliction. 

One morning we met James while we were waiting to catch a bus through an industrial area and in the blistering heat, James himself elected to tip along and walk the distance.  He has shown us kindness and wisdom at every turn, and the custom of "morning brandy" which I will never do again in my life, especially before walking 25k lol. Taj & Ardith, a brother and sister who embody the spirit of the camino. Those of you who are familiar with the trail should know the emergency shack at the top of the high road from St. Jean. They spent the night there. Ardith pushed herself until a doctor told her she couldn't anymore, she is such a strong person, and had a permanent smile at the end of every day. Taj is capturing photos of the camino that make his trip appear to be straight out of national geographic & he's rocking 25-30k now. And Tom, our dearest Tom. Like a phantom he comes and goes from our camino, and it is always Christmas to see him. We lost him in Los Arcos & recollected him 5 days later. We lost him again and then in the city of Burgos I recognized him sans backpack by the back of his head. A man of few words and many thoughts. The type who saves his words for profound or hilarious proclamations. We are glad to know and have met them all. 

We have had guest appearances as well. While walking with Tom, Anto and Roly we came across a little stand with a seasoned pilgrim (10 caminos+) who awaited passing pilgrims in order to give advice. Here we met Carlos for the first time. 

As Roly translated the conversation Carlos was having with the wise pilgrim it became apparent we were English. Carlos flashed us a trademark smile and a quick English greeting. Our paths connected for the next couple of days and as we had separated from Anto & Graham (who had to book it to Burgos) we eventually became adopted by Carlos and the group of Italians he was travelling with. Carlos, from Barcelona is hard to define. The duality. He is part spirited youth from the Spanish urban music scene and part hopeless wanderer like ourselves. 

Like many on the camino, he has a greater perspective of the world than the world can accommodate, but I am confident he will one day find where he is going.

We drunkenly stumbled to Burgos with our band of Italians until a) Carlos had to return home and b) Natasha was nearly kidnapped and shipped off to Italy via shotgun wedding by an admirer.

The beginning of the Meseta after Burgos was a struggle for me. 

I have not had a decent waist strap since the beginning and have walked all but four days in my crocs. Then I got sick. 2 days after I'd walked with a fever, one of my shoulder straps had torn and been refastened in a knot, and I walked through the bottom of my crocs. Until this point we had missed only 5km of camino. I struggled to put my hiking shoes on over blisters and when the tears came Natasha said enough was enough, we could skip forward as my need for equipment was no longer negotiable. 

I am grateful for her, for reassuring me and not having any animosity towards me for needing to taxi ahead. She has been strong from the start and I know she'd have had no problem doing the entire Meseta.

So flash forward to Sahagun.

We find Kurt again! Kurt our dear friend we met in the first town after Burgos who shares our love for music and disdain for mucous (we all have the same cold). Kurt from SLO California, Kurt the washboard player & drummer from the Mother Corn Shuckers. Kurt, our angel of the desert, who came singing down the path in the middle of no where (as we sought shelter from a urine soaked bush) and gave us positive mojo we needed to knock out a 25km day. Kurt who has such a lust for life he said himself he needs at least 450 years to get everything done. 

Kurt who we vow to visit on his birthday in Cali.

As we lunch with Kurt we learn they're running the bulls in Sahagun that evening. 

 As we choose our viewpoints along the streets of Sahagun our Canadian headbands get us some attention. 

Juanjo, standing in the street dressed in the colors of his neighbourhood (as is customary during this festival) strikes up a conversation with us in English and encourages our group to follow him to a better viewpoint. 

So we do, and we watch the bulls run the streets of Sahagun.  Then Juanjo beckons us to follow him into the plaza the bulls of run to. So we join his neighbourhood in the stands and watch the civilians in the pit try their luck with various bulls. 

Don't ask me what was in the water, but an hour later, Natasha is in the bull pen. I wish I'd had enough use of my legs to join her lol.

Juanjo asks us where we head to in the morning. We say Leon as I need new shoes and a new backpack. Juanjo is from Leon and tells us to meet him at the cathedral at 2pm and he will show us the city.

Does he ever.

At two PM a sharply dressed Juanjo meets us in the square and takes us to his car, which is of course an Audi.

He takes us to lunch and shows us the interior of a luxury hotel that used to be a jail, complete with a display of ancient roman tombstones. & then we're off to the countryside to spend the rest of the day touring vineyards, Oruja (May have spelled that wrong) and cider factories, all of which were closed but elected to open their doors for the Canadian peregrinas. 

That night over dinner Juanjo asks if we'd like to join him in Grijon as he has work to do in Astoria (a gorgeous coastal mountain area north of Leon). For the record, Juanjo is a livestock geneticist who knows virtually every cattle farmer in a 300km radius of Leon through a company called World Wide Sires (we have toques).  So off we go for a rest day in Grijon. Which turns out to be a paradise. 

Juanjo is a remarkable individual. Look up "host" and you will see his picture. He threw us the keys to his beach apartment and went about his business. 

We eventually had to implore the importance of returning to the camino as we are pretty sure he would have let us stay with him forever. Juanjo our dear friend we are so thankful for all of your kindness. 

So here we are, awaiting the next chapter of this surreal experience.

BUEN CAMINO PERGRINO (not sarcastic at all)

Okay first things first:  MARK AND ALLISON:  We snapped some pictures for you guys, but are without access to a computer with an SD slot for upload.  Tangent topic in the interim, just caught up with your blog and I am so impressed!! The camino takes it's toll and you guys are rocking it!  So pleased to run into y'all yesterday.  Happy adventuring!

Secondly, to our followers, we are alive and roasted.  The nuns of whatever town we are in have opened their doors to us and segregated men from women.  Des and I were only too happy to have the separation. 

We are still hating the heat, though today and tomorrow are cooler than the previous days.  We tip along, often finding solice in our music.  I sing.  Des records me... Which is scary.

We have met a semi famous Spanish musician, he's currently serenading the plaza loungers.  This guy is a delight, his English is comparable to my Spanish.  Somehow we all communicate, I think that's the fun about the camino.  Even if you don't understand the words you manage to connect with the people around you.  Today we shared our dislike for the well wishing between peers.  Most days there is nothing buen about the camino, we are sore, tired, hot, and over it, 'buen cussing camino!' And yet, day after day, person after person I utter this phrase, it's become habit, maybe in part because I hope their day isn't as shity as mine, or maybe deep down it's funny to say good way even when I know it's not. In the end the walk is worth it, you check in and are ever so content to start again. I compared it to a drawn out labor (I'm not a mother but it's a theory) you go through so cussing much and then when it's over you think wow this is incredible, I could totally do that again.  It could be I have heatstroke and sound loco.  I've embraced my insanity, and my space-case mannerism.

Des continues to impress me with her strength, she may not like this but I'm going to describe a situation that leaves me speechless.  I put her (falling apart) pack on the other day, she had a fever (I didn't tell her about until we found an albergue) and her feet are wrecked so I thought maybe I could help.  It took only ten minutes before my body started aching in ways I've never felt.  I shifted and explained to her that I had no idea how she had made it as long as she had.  I would have quit in the mountains.  We both agree she needs a new pack, I run on the theory that her ailments are in a large part because of her pack.  Today as we wander around town realizing there's no option for new she remarks, so [enter name of next town] (I have no idea where I am) in the morning, it's only 14(?) kilometers.  All I can say is wow.  We are both ill, I contemplated jumping off an overpass yesterday and she's all well can't get a new pack may as well carry on.  Strength.  5:30 am and a brisk jaunt to the next town which certainly will not sell backpacks.  I suppose at this point what choice do we have.  Where's my Prince Charming with my damned horse?

An ode to Einstein

Okay friends, I'll be honest, I nearly went home in Burgos.  Save for the help a dear friend I don't think I could have pulled through.  The good news is I put my big girl panties on and kept on walking.  Des and I have both reached this point and incidentally both swore we were done in Burgos.  Yet here we be.  27km trekked today and we're better than ever.  We have entered the Meseta and short of temper tantrums over bugs and lack of shade we are rocking it.

My thoughts today were mostly focused on leaving my rocks at the cross.  I reflected on the miles and my aches.  How every step hurting meant I was Camino-ing right (in my own mind; each camino is personal).  I fought internally struggled physically and kept on going.  I bit my tongue, I held back my frustration and I took a step and then another.  I looked to the ground; left foot, right foot, and so on.

Looking back at the kilometers travelled, the trials we've survived and the breaking points we have weather I thought about a camino peer of ours.  We call him Einstein for his intellect and characteristic guise.  This man has been with us since day one, what's more is that he is pushing 70 years of age and shuffle steps along with a pack I'm certain weighs more than me.  The significance of Einstein is that despite his aches, his well lived life and surrendering youth HE STILL KEEPS UP WITH US!  He's my hero.  He's my momentum.  There are so many you meet along the way struggling in some facet of life or another, I summarize my time here as a calibration of mind body and soul.  Each one of us with weight on our shoulders, some driving force and heavy hearts.  The community is drawn together with the ailments and the remedies.  I've taken pills from strangers a couple times, which would be alarming back home but here along the way it's just one member to another trying to help.  We pat each other on the back, we cry into the shoulders of virtual strangers we embrace like family because no one really gets it like your fellow perrigringos.  If I could say one thing about this trip and I in fact I did say it today:  I WAY UNDERESTIMATED THE CAMINO.

My advice to those out there, surfing blogs and planning their trips, the things I wish I knew.  You can't prepare for this adventure, and it will suck.  Somedays will feel like the worst of your life. You need the people along the way.  This is not about solitude.  The camino will break you, but not destroy you.  Quite alarmingly it will empower you.  Nothing (certainly not the damned guidebooks) can offer you insight.  Start walking, try to put togeher into words how you feel, I dare you.

What I've learned on the camino so far

1. Bathrooms can be rated on a 1-5 scale in terms of their inventory, which may or may or not include: toilet paper, a seat, a lock, a light, more than 2x3 feet of space.

2. Never before this journey did I know what physical fatigue felt like.

3. I hate Germans. (Tom who is German said this so we asked why) They are negative and unrelaxed and way too strict.

4. Roly says: If you're going to do the camino don't be negative. Be prepared for absolutely everything that you could be prepared for on a socialogical scale because people will test you. We have a companion who snores and two pilgrims began complaining about his snoring in their €5 room. They were complaining in Spanish and Roly confronted them, so I'll repeat the advice he gave the pilgrims. Bring fucking ear plugs or shut the fuck up (he was nicer about it).

5. Italians give all of their emotion to the extreme. Anger, love, sadness. -

6. Even pilgrims can be stuck up bitches - look up the word pilgrim for me please.

7. Don't be afraid to check out albergues before you agree to stay there.

8. Don't take advantage of people that have money, and appreciate all generosity.

9. Duct tape

10. Be wary of strange priests.

11. "Can you quote me?" Yes "Um, damn it come back to me I can't remember" "ok ok, I remember" - this wasn't worth quoting lol

12. Showers are a blessed thing

13. Be thankful of the time you get to spend with the good people in your many camino families because they can separate over night.

Your own camino

6 months ago I was browsing blogs like this one to try to prepare for my own camino.

Don't do that.

The entire point of the camino is that it is in no way relatable to anyone else's.

I have a sleeping bag. Many do not. We landed in Madrid. Many did not. I have waterproof hiking shoes but am on day 3 of wearing knock off crocs, one of my travelling partners is in sandals and has been the whole time.

Reading online forums gave me such a negative stigma towards anyone who has their pack transferred or submits to needing to jump into a vehicle at some point or another.  Yesterday we took a high road and backtracked into the town we thought we'd stay in. At 4pm we arrived and the entire town was full, no hotels and there was a storm threatening. The next town was 10km away and we had to take a taxi.  Our group is young and in good shape and everyone one of them were nearly in tears (or was in tears) as we floated effortlessly in a taxi over kilometres we have become so accustomed to conquering on foot.  During this low, I was feeling a moment of elation as I watched the emotions around me.  When we struggle and moan all day, begging the universe for the next town to appear around the next corner we lose sight of exactly how much this "walking" means to all of us in our own ways. You can't do a camino wrong.  You can't f#ck up your camino.  It is about the victories, the defeats, the acquiring of new friends and the separation of our walking companions.  I have felt these voids before and know in my heart that without them you have no capacity -or appreciation- to refill those voids. 

So many people see their hearts as a container that they fill throughout their lives. I like to think of it more as a waterfall, sometimes the water is so low that you feel it may run out completely, but new sources ( and experiences in life) raise it again and all remains connected.

Plan as little as you can for your own camino and start slow.  Every day is a mountain, every day requires it's own strength, but that is the point of this journey.

Ramble on.