Camino Levante - things you only see when you walk!

Dear Friends, 

Santiago is swarming with pilgrims arriving every day. There is no time to write about the themes which have been in my head since I returned from Camino. Today and in the days to come there are some images which will describe it better than I can. Check out the last photograph in today's selection. I love it! I will return soon. Promise.

John 

Without fear

I’m afraid of the dentist. Big time. I used to do anything to avoid going. Then I found a wonderful dentist who believed in pain free dentistry. The only thing that was painful was his bill. I had to leave him behind when I left the UK and as luck would have it in two successive days here in Santiago I got toothache and broke my glasses. Anxiety levels rose. I phoned a friend who made an appointment for me not only with his dentist but with his optician. That made things worse. Now I had a deadline. At 12.30 on Monday I had to meet a new dentist, explain what was wrong and hope they didn’t hurt me too much. Fear grows fear. The anxiety spiralled. I thought, “you still have to learn a lot of Spanish...how do you say “ this pain is dull, deep, gnawing and at times it throbs?” But off to the dentist I went. As if accompanying a child to their first day at school my Gallego friend came with me. We sat in the waiting room and minutes ticked by. "I read your last blog," he said, “do you have more stories of the people you met on the way?” And so I found myself telling him about a few of them. I started with the funniest.

One day we walked into a little town in Castilla La Mancha called La Roda. With 16,000 inhabitants it boasts a selection of large mansion houses with armorials and is famed for little custard and cream pastries called Miguelitos. Why they have that name I do not know but I reckon if there ever was a man called Miguel after whom they were named he was probably enormous. These little pastries are deadly and must weigh in at 1000 calories apiece. We had booked into the Hostal Molino and we duly arrived to be greeted by the landlord Don Antonio who holds court in his bar in the same style as one of the Spanish aristocracy of the middle ages. He told us he had been the host of the establishment for 39 years as he plied us with cold beers and tapas which were very welcome at the end of a hot day’s walking. Antonio also pointed out a group of other pilgrims who were there. These were 8 Belgians walking the Camino Sureste which crosses the Camino Levante at points. They were a group of older people walking with a support vehicle and reducing the daily etapas to fit their level of comfort and fitness. They were sitting at a table in the bar which looked just like every other Spanish bar...older men were playing cards, a couple chatted at the bar, someone was playing the fruit machine, customers went outside to smoke unaware of the stench their smoke was causing as it blew back in through the open door. All the while with fatherly pride Antonio regaled us with stories about his family. “I have two boys, both with two doctorates each and BMWs. BMWs are much better than Mercedes, don’t you think?”

After a rest and walk in the town we arrived back at the bar for dinner. It was Friday night around 9pm. The Belgians were already at table. The old men still played cards. Money rattled into the fruit machine and the smokers smoked outside. A couple were scoffing fried sardines at the bar. The television droned from a shelf high on the wall. And amongst this traditional scene were about 30 or so young men dressed to the nines, holding hands, kissing, hugging and chatting. The Belgians were agog. They nudged and winked and stared. The old men continued with their card game. Then to a loud chorus of greetings a chap arrived dressed in a frock, with pearls, hair held up and a ring on every finger. Cheeks were duly kissed all round and the new arrival took a seat in the corner. I thought the Belgians would need physiotherapy on their necks at some point. Then in scenes more redolent of parts of London or New York it was obvious The Dealer had arrived. Money was palmed from one to the other. The smell of marijuana blew in from the terazza and at one point a girl with pupils like pin pricks and a complexion as white as snow staggered from one end of the room to the other. The old men continued playing cards except one of them who turned his chair round to gaze with undisguised curiosity at the scene before him. Then a bus arrived. The boys all got on and 8 pairs of Belgian eyes followed exit of the chap with the backless dress and high heels. Antonio rather nervously approached. “Can I get you anything?” he enquired. “Antonio,” I said, “isn’t it a shame how communities like this have problems with drug abuse among the young people?” His eyes theatrically widened , “drugs? drugs? What drugs? We have no drugs in La Roda... come with me tomorrow and we will see some very nice houses and have some Miguelitos.” He said with complete seriousness. The Big Man kicked me under the table, his message was clear, "in the face of this level of denial ...don’t you dare mention the transvestite in the corner."
Next morning there was a special programme on La Roda TV as the Mayor launched their Anti Drugs strategy.

The next person I want to tell you about is Señora Hilda who with her husband has run the Hotel Rio in Ponte Ulla at the end of the Via de la Plata for 30 years. I remembered her from 2006 when I walked from Seville. At that time we had a long conversation about the challenges of bringing up children in an increasingly material society. This time we had a chat about how pilgrims have changed over the 30 years Hilda has been serving them. Her comments were interesting. “Pilgrims nowadays get angry more easily, they are more impatient. But,” she paused for reflection, ”perhaps pilgrims 30 years ago expected less? Maybe we all did?” Hilda is still very happy to serve and help pilgrims. The last time I was there she had allowed a pilgrim with a little donkey to sleep in her garden. Hilda sees the growth in the popularity of the pilgrimage as entirely a good thing. “Pilgrims aren’t always what they seem” she said, “often they are better.”

At this point the dentist’s receptionist appeared and apologised for keeping me waiting. Only a few more minutes. In that time I recounted some of the kindnesses we had received on the camino. The gruff farmer who gave us oranges, the restaurant who didn’t have a Menu of Day but gave us three courses including bread and wine for 9 euros, the woman who gave us the wrong directions and then got in her car and drove after us to lead us the correct way, the woman who opened her dining room and kitchen on a Sunday night just to feed the two of us with a mountain of food. The many strangers along the way who touched us and asked us to hug the Saint for them. All of their kindnesses are embodied in the anonymous farmer who stopped us on the path through his village. “It is hot,” he said, “would you like some cherries?” At that he reached up and picked the most delicious ripe cherries from the tree. As he handed them to us he took in the height of the Big Man and said, “go on pick those up there, as much as you want, pick them sin miedo.” Without fear.

As these words left my lips the receptionist appeared. “John, the dentist will see you now.” Her name is Dr Eva. She has little English. But with that pilgrim combination of words, gestures, drawings and a dictionary we understood each other just fine. We both learned new words from each other. She diagnosed the problem and applied the treatment. I got the message she also believes in pain free dentistry. I was relieved and at last sin miedo.

Having the stomach for it

“How was your camino?” is a question I ask almost every pilgrim who comes to the Pilgrims’ Office in Santiago. Some become very emotional about the experience. Others describe the blisters and tendonitis they suffered inevitably adding “merece la pena” – it was worth the pain. All of them however are united in saying that is the other people they met on the way who made the entire experience memorable, and for many, life changing.
Here in Santiago things have been busy. After a few quiet days the number of pilgrims arriving is increasing as the August surge begins. In fact the reordering of the Pilgrims’ Office in its new accommodation has led to greater efficiency and far shorter waiting times for pilgrims. Everyone is pleased. Gossip and rumour about the missing Codex continue to abound in the bars and in the newspapers. The rumour with most currency is that it is an “inside job” perpetrated to embarrass Cathedral officials some of whom are deeply unpopular. I suspect this theory may be wishful thinking.

But I’ve hardly had time for thinking. I’ve unpacked boxes, reluctantly put away camino gear, rearranged the apartment, installed new telephone and internet, become registered to live in Spain, and opened a bank account with a Spanish bank so that I can have a mobile telephone contract with a Spanish provider. I’ve also registered with the Spanish Health Service so that I can see a doctor when I need to and get repeat prescriptions at a discount price as I did in London. To do all of this I’ve been to the police station, local government offices, banks and the medical centre not once but several times. It has been exhausting. Processes which are time consuming in one’s native language are strange, arcane and energy sapping in a different language. I’ve got used to being called a “foreigner” and having to go to the departments which deal with “Extranjeros”. Poco a poco the ingredients essential for permanent daily living here have been coming together.
There are many new faces in the Pilgrims’ Office and I have been getting to know them as well as starting to work there regularly again. Welcoming fellow pilgrims continues to be rewarding and I am developing ideas about how more volunteers can come to Santiago to provide information and support to pilgrims arriving. However I become increasingly convinced that such volunteers have to have been walking pilgrims themselves. I’ll tell you more about this project as it emerges.

I’ve also started playing regularly in Pontevedra. The church is very well attended and is extremely beautiful. At the family mass on a Sunday morning there are over 300 children in addition to the adults. You can imagine the noise. The services at 12 and 1pm are more sedate affairs with much better music nowadays I may add! Then there are the funerals and weddings. In the last 10 days I’ve played at 5 funerals. This could well become a full time job.
But the magnetism of the camino remains and I miss walking. On Thursday I’m off to walk back to Santiago on the Camino Portuguese from Padron. In the few quiet moments I also been browsing through my photographs from the Camino Levante. Everytime I see the face of some of the people I met on the way I remember vividly what we talked about. I thought I’d share some memories with you:

Meet Manuela, 76 years of age who still works everyday in the family bar in Rionegra del Puente. She and her husband live upstairs with their son and his wife. There is a really good albergue in Rionegra but we struck up a conversation with Manuela and she offered us a house for 15 euros each. Yes, a house. Well, I tell a lie, it was actually a bar...their former bar with their former flat above. Private garden, facilities for washing clothes and the opportunity to play at being a barman. I couldn’t miss the opportunity. Manuela is a character with a huge sense of humour and we had a great laugh especially when I showed her the photograph and told her I was opening up in opposition to them. However Manuela’s brows knitted in earnest when I said that her dish “callos” was delicious. “Would you tell me your recipe?” I asked. Her voice fell to a whisper lest anyone would hear the secret family formula...it was then she uttered the memorable words...”You take one whole stomach and first wash it with salt and vinegar...”

Second in line for a mention has got to be Segundo who at the age of 79 almost overtook me on a long open stretch of the camino. Our friend Rebekah Scott had joined us for a few days walking and Segundo just joined the party as if he was going to walk all the way to Santiago with us. “I walk for miles every day” he explained as his walking stick tapped out his footsteps. Very quickly Segundo related his whole life. Born into a huge family he had worked the very land around us. He peppered everything he said with tangents...”the route used to be over there” he pointed. Then he rounded on Rebekah...”and what about you? Where are you from? And how do you get time to walk like this, I mean, you’re young?” he said as he drew appraising eyes off me in comparison to Reb’s obvious youth. Before Rebekah could draw breath he rhymed off the next set of questions, “ are you rich because you are obviously too young to be on a pension?” As we walked on the sun beat down. I tried the tactic of asking him questions but he was undeterred. It was my turn. “What about this heat, this sun?” He asked me, rapidly adding, “where’s your hat, don’t you know that you are bald?”

Next up is Carmen who I met in Puebla de Sanabria she is pictured with the packed lunch she provides on departure to all pilgrims who stay in her hostal. As ever a conversation ensued within minutes of us meeting. I told her some camino stories and she told us about her life there and her family. “I have triplets” she said proudly. “Three daughters, all aged 18 now and very beautiful.” I asked her if bringing up three babies all of the same aged hadn’t been difficult? “Not all all,” she replied, “It was wonderful, and still is.” “But isn’t your house like a war zone at times with three teenage daughters all the same age?” I enquired having some experience in these matters. “Not at all,” she said. “Of course they fight at times but mostly it is peaceful.” Carmen comes from a long line of twins and her husband also had twins in his family. Sadly they are no longer together. She never said why but what she did share might provide a clue. Leaning over the counter she said, “having triplets is the best thing that ever happened to me, in fact I passionately want another three before I am too old.” All we could do was wish her luck with that particular project.

In the next few days I’ll tell you more about the people I met on the way and what they said. Until then, remember...if you want to make callos take a whole stomach...

Letter from Santiago de Compostela

Day 56 of the trip, day 50 walking

Dear Friends
On Monday morning we breakfasted well in Ponte Ulla 20 kms from Santiago. We were keen to get going but also reluctant to leave. This was the last day of a long camino in which we had walked almost 1300 kilometres in 50 days. During the last few days I’ve felt like an astronaut returning to earth. Whilst deep in the pilgrimage everything seemed very simple. The daily routine. The simple pleasures. Walking mile after mile through the heat and rain. Being rewarded with good company and cold beer. Praying regularly and realising that life can be simple. Two sets of clothes. No suits, no ties. I also realised this time apart would not be special if I lived like this all the time and in the last days my mind has gradually filled with a kaleidoscope of camino memories I want to write about, the usual family concerns, bills to be paid, things to be arranged, starting work in the Pilgrims’ Office, planning music in Pontevedra.

Above all I want to tell everyone who is interested that if you want to experience a Camino in the way that pilgrims did on the Camino Francés 30 years ago, don’t hesitate – go and walk the Camino Levante right now. The number of pilgrims setting out from Valencia Cathedral remain small but each year they are growing. Go now whilst pilgrims still remain an unfamiliar sight to local people along the way, where people respect pilgrims and go out of their way to help us, where you are more likely to have a drink or a meal bought for you than to be ripped off for having a foreign accent. The signage along the entire route is generally excellent. There are few albergues but lots of other types of accommodation. During the camino we slept in convents, houses, albergues, lots of cheap hostals, 10€ per person being the cheapest for an en suite room with TV. We also slept in some unusual places...I’ll tell you more about that another time. Promise.

Over these 50 days we walked through rich countryside with crops abundant. The market garden of Spain. We walked through meseta, the long, long miles of Castilla La Mancha where every village has a castle. I passed several which I thought might very well do Johnnie Walker as a country retreat. The landscapes were as magnificent as the welcomes we were given. This truly is the land of Don Quijote. We slept in a convent where the Mother Superior asked us what a walking pilgrimage was like. We explained the daily routine walking separately with the Big Man usually taking the lead. “Well, he has longer legs,” she observed wryly, “maybe you are just a Scottish version of Don Quijote and Sancho Panza?” You can guess who is who.

In the first half of our pilgrimage we watched weather reports avidly and planned our days to try and dodge the storms and instant deluges innocently called chubascos. We walked fast when storm clouds gathered through intense humidity and were lucky to only be caught once or twice in the entire journey. The truth is we could have got wetter in Scotland at the height of summer.

Some of the stages were demanding but stamina grows quickly. After the flat plains of La Mancha we walked up to the village of Cerebros where hang gliders soared above us. The next day saw us going as high as them as we reached the top and the half way mark on our journey.

As well as the lush countryside and the open hearted local people we also saw another Spain. A country where the prolonged economic crisis is taking a heavy toll. There are literally thousands of building projects, large and small which have stopped in mid construction. The high levels of unemployment the consequence of over-lending for projects which could not be sustained. Parts of Spain are becoming littered with half built buildings. The “creesees” is on everyone’s lips, but one result is that some prices have dropped and others are being held constant. There isn’t a lot of cash around.

We also saw a Spain where in places drugs are a rising problem. Why should Spain be any different? So too are the problems which are being stored for the future by the rising levels of immigrants particularly from China and the Islamic countries. Every pueblo has a Chinese Bazaar and some of them are aggressively competitive. For example there is an outbreak of shops calling themselves El Corte Oriental using virtually the same corporate house style as that Spanish institution the Corte Inglés. The Chinese run “Cortes” sell everything from shoes to fresh bread at astonishingly low prices. In Toledo a local businesswoman brimmed over with resentment. “There is an invasion of these people” she said, “working for low wages, selling things at low prices, putting us out of business”. Yet market forces prevail and the same Spaniards who resent the wave of immigration queue each morning waiting for El Corte Oriental to open to buy bread and search its bargains.

In many places too intolerance is bubbling to the surface. In this country where the image of St James slaying the moors is a national icon they still have traditional re-enactments of the Spanish people repelling and expelling the people of Islam. In Mallorca and in Murcia to name only two places one group of Spaniards black up their faces to be slain or imprisoned by the defending white population. The long held sensitivity to Moslems is being pointed up in sharp relief as the number of people moving from Arabic countries increases. One of the sights I most enjoying seeing is that of the families and older people gathering of an evening or Sunday afternoon in the Plaza Mayor. In some Plazas in the South it was obvious there is now a Moslem corner. The divisions are obvious. “Look at their women wearing veils” said one Spaniard. Another complained, “and in this Catholic country, they want to build a mosque!” Strange thoughts in a country where Moslem women wore veils for hundreds of years and many Catholic churches and cathedrals are built on the sites of more ancient mosques. But blacking up your face and pretending to kill Moslems is no answer to the integration which is badly needed. I had to smile when I came across a building with the design of a “mosque” it was even called the “Mezquita” or the mosque. Grotesquely sacrilegious to some eyes this building had been a nightclub. Now for sale. The crisis!

We walked through all of this Spain, some days from dawn to dusk. A land of many parts with many languages and peoples. We met few other pilgrims and before Zamora when the route joined the Via de la Plata the only others we met were those walkers who turned back and cyclists racing forward. We met one cyclist who said that he had to be in Santiago on the 11th of June. Our plan was to arrive on the 11th of July!

The greatest gift of this Camino was undoubtedly the people. Our quiet companionship with each other and the blessing of company in the evenings on such a long journey. The local people we met who cherished what we were doing. Being joined by our friend Rebekah for some days. We walked out together one morning at dawn the three of us praying quietly as the light of the new day revealed the countryside around us. I have 943 photographs and just as many stories. I will tell you some of them in the days and weeks to come.

A life-long task for me has been trying to sort out my “needs” from my “wants”. That ambition has been central to this pilgrimage. I lived more happily than I expected with only two sets of clothes carrying everything I needed on my back. The message of the little I need to live was driven home in all sorts of ways. Meet Angel who with a very mischievous smile assailed us one day. The temperature was soaring. The day before 46 degrees had been recorded in the North of Spain. That afternoon felt just as hot. “You two are very brave walking to Santiago in this heat” he said. “And you are Scottish!” he hooted. He had lived in the same pueblo all his life. I asked him how many sheep he tended. He replied, ”Just enough for me to live.”

“Valiente” (brave) was what the nuns in Valencia Cathedral called us when they gave us our very first sello. It was what the lady called us as she stamped our credenciales in Ponte Ulla. It was a word which was to be repeated all along the Camino. Yet, in truth we didn’t feel brave at all. The word was used yet again at Mass in Silleda two days before our arrival. An elderly couple, both with walking sticks, approached. “Are you pilgrims? Where have you walked from?” they asked. When we replied they insisted on touching us. “Will you two brave pilgrims hug the Saint for us?” they asked. “It will be a  privilege”, we replied. Our Camino was indeed a privilege. Bravery had little to do with it.

However on the last day as we approached Santiago such humble thoughts were cast aside as we marched proudly into the city. We passed through a pueblo where flags adorned the streets and people danced in the Plaza to live music. “How did they know we were coming today?” We joked. In reality it was a village fiesta. Then over the rise of the hill we saw the spires of the Cathedral. Just as our pace quickened fireworks boomed and exploded high in the sky. We laughed at the scale of the celebration of our arrival. Then we realised it was the rehearsal for the fireworks display on the Feast of St James on 25th July. One thing however which must have been God-sent just for us was the bagpipe tune Scotland the Brave the gaitero played as we entered the great Plaza Obradoiro to mark our final destination.

The Saint hugged, tomb prayed at, final sellos and Compostela obtained we made off for a celebration drink. Joaquin, the cathedral organist, popped in. We told him of our triumphant entry into the city. “Ok,” we said, “flags, bands, dancing and fireworks might just have been a coincidence ... but the bagpipes playing Scotland the Brave must have been meant just for us”. Ever the realist he replied, “I don’t want to disappoint you two brave pilgrims but he’s been playing that tune over and over for days. I’m sick of it.”

Until next time. Thank you all for your messages and support.

John

A quick note from Toro

Dear Friends

Day 38 of the trip, 33 days walking - 770 kms from Valencia 

I´m writing to you from Toro just round the corner from the magnificent church (above) of the Colegiata of Santa Maria la Mayor consecrated in 1174. I´m sorry I haven´t written sooner but since Toledo I have been totally in the grip of this pilgrimage. I can´t think about anything else. Every day along the way I think of stories to tell you but they disappear as fast as they come as we walk on through magnificent countryside. Some of the walking has been tough - going over the mountains, rising up to the hilltop town of Cerebros where hang gliders jumped off the cliffs and passing the halfway mark of this trip a few days ago at some 1300 metres above sea level. It has been hot. Most days by the afternoon the temperature is in the mid 30´s. As you know that can be hell to walk in.
We were really lucky to be joined by our friend Rebekah who has written about her days with us. It was a joy to share some miles walking with her as we passed through little towns and villages - getting lost and getting found again! Rebekah and her husband Paddy provide a hugely valuable ministry to pilgrims in their home on the Camino Frances and I count myself lucky to be their friend.

Since I last wrote we walked from Toledo to the wonderful walled city of Avila where we leanrend more of the lives and works of St Teresa and St John of the Cross. We then came forward passing through Medina del Campo then on to Toro where we are going meet another friend from London who comes from this very town. We walked 34 kilometers to get here and the final climb in the searing afternoon heat was difficult. However this view from my bedroom window made it all worth it.

Along the way I´ve tried twice to write to you with pictures of the journey and twice my efforts have crashed with the antiquated computers in cyber cafe. I´m not going to try again until I get to Santiago. Tomorrow we will be in Zamora and then we will follow the Via de la Plata home.

I´ll tell you all my stories then!

Keep well.

John

Letter from Toledo

Dear Friends

Today I had a coffee in a small, nondescript bar halfway up the hill to the magnificent city of Toledo. I sat in the same seat where 10 years ago I watched the twin towers fall on 11 September, 2001. On that day only the family who ran the bar sat with me in stunned silence as the horror of the terrorist attack unfolded. As the clouds of dust billowed from the falling buildings the voice of the grandfather broke the silence. “This will lead to war” he muttered. Alas his prediction came true.

Back then I made the short train trip to Toledo from Madrid where I was having a brief break. For a long time I had wanted to visit the city and in particular see the cathedral with its famous sacristy overflowing with paintings by El Greco and Velazquez. This time I entered the city as a pilgrim. Footsore, tired and hungry. Our arrival in Toledo means we have walked almost 500 kms. Time to take stock, do a washing and rest. There are some long stages ahead.

Since I last wrote to you the Camino seems to have completely taken over our lives. The other day I stopped in a village square in the mid afternoon and slipped off my boots sighing with the relief that a “boots off” break brings. I was rubbing my feet when a local man plopped himself down on the seat beside me. He looked at me with the typical cocktail of  respect and “you must be mad” amusement when I told him I was walking to Compostela. “Where have you walked from today” he enquired. No matter how hard I tried I couldn´t remember. “Errrr, errrr,” I hesitated as I pulled my credencial from my pocket. Only when I saw the sello could I name the place I had left only 6 or so hours before. It was an easier matter to tell him where I was going that day. The pilgrimage seems to do that to us. We don´t remember where we have been as if the information is irrelevant to our purpose. Rather we become fixed on where we are going. If only I could apply that lesson to my life in general. The past is gone. Concentrate on what is to come.

On Camino though we are focussed on the more immediate future of the few metres in front of us as we walk along the Way. It is through walking at my own pace I can see and think about the things which otherwise I  would miss. This less walked route is full of wildlife unused to passing pilgrims. Rabbits and hares burst out on the path. Lizards skitter into the long grass. Butterflies dance around the still blooming spring flowers which colour the borders of the paths in reds, purples, blues and white. A field of white poppies follows red. Ants march in perfectly formed lines creating ant-highways full of industry and purpose. The other day I watched a single ant slowly push an improbably huge load. All the time crickets rub their legs together in the long grass and pollen collecting bees buzz. A couple of pilgrims on a tandem whizzed past. Only walkers can experience all of this. I don´t want to overstate the effect but for me this is like brain washing in the best sense. I can´t get enough of it.

Life on pilgrimage is one of routine. Get up, wash, pack the rucksack, breakfast, find the first of the arrows of the day and follow them through many experiences until the next bed, food and sleep are in sight. It is a time set apart. In some small ways very like the lives of some religious people who live a life of prayer in communities closed off from the everyday world. We met some of them when we decided to stay at the Convent of the Trinitarian nuns in Toboso. Their Order is over 1000 years old and their daily routine of silence and prayer has been well established over that time. We arrived at the convent having phoned in advance to book as advised in the guidebook. “The charge is 20 euros each,” said the nun who answered the phone. When I hesitated since this was 3 times what had been charged in a previous convent she went on, ”well we have to clean and maintain the convent.” I enquired if dinner was included. With a sigh she said that something could be arranged. The accommodation was very adequate and the sister who received guests explained the rules – particularly the curfew. Being in at 9pm was fine staying out until 10pm, “no esta bien”. We were there by 9pm and as instructed pressed the bell. A voice from behind a screen greeted us with “Ave Maria”. We were told to wait. Another door opened  and we were beckoned into a simple room divided by a grill. There was a table set for food and one of the bars had been removed. A simple dinner of vegetables, boiled potatoes and fruit was passed through the gap. Through another door appeared a nun in her 70´s with milky white skin and a pure white habit. “I am the Mother Superior,” she said, “I hope you understand Spanish”. For the next 45 minutes or so she engaged us in conversation, about the pilgrimage and pilgrims´ motives for doing it and she answered our questions about the Order. She herself was born in Toboso. She entered the convent at the age of 17 and had been Superior for 32 years. She spoke about their vocation to pray for the world and for that part of their Order where members provide social and health care for the poor. It was a memorable conversation carried out through the bars. We said goodnight and each went our respective pilgrim ways.  

La Mancha remains exotic and several times ruined castles atop green hills have been distant landmarks which we have walked towards. Don Quijote continues to appear regularly.

In the days since I last wrote Spain has seen unprecedented bad weather. Two days ago it was raining in all of Spain. Hailstones dented cars in Seville and rivers burst their banks. Ón camino I´ve seen rain in the last week or so which was exactly like the monsoons I witnessed in India. For the most part the weather remains hot and clammy a precurser to wild thunder with both forked and sheet lightening before the heavens open. A few days ago we saw the storm clouds gathering. As we passed a tractor a couple of farm workers were crowding into the cabin. “Do you know a tormentera is coming?” they asked. “Oh yes” we replied. They beat a hasty retreat and we quickened our pace. Thankfully only being caught on the periphery of the deluge. We looked back to see the castle we passed being soaked. We are becoming aficionados of weather forecasts as we try to time leaving and arriving to avoid the worst of the storms and the highly focussed cloud bursts (chubascos). We´ve largely been lucky so far and thankfully the temperature has now dropped and the forecast is better for the days to come.

We continue to have encounters and adventures. In San Clemente we were looking round a huge church which appeared to have a a new, modern organ. The priest appeared and engaged us in conversation. I suspect he hadn´t spoken to strangers for a while because he showed us round the 12^th century church showing us early photographs of original artefacts long since destroyed. “They say some of these were destroyed in the civil war” he said with a smile, “but I suspect the priest sold them”. He was equally frank in his views on the economy of Spain and the increased social problems. He excused himself to go off and see some gentlemen of the road who had sought his help. “Nowadays” he said, “we have to distinguish between transient travelers and pilgrims.”  Medieval accounts of the pilgrimage to Santiago show it has always been thus.

That evening Mass in the church was attended by 200 people, Afterwards he called me over. “Would you like to try the organ?” he asked and introudced me to the wee nun who had played during the mass. She was so short her feet couldn´t reach the pedals. They were very proud of the new instrument purchsed with money from a donation and even more proud when as I played the Big Man´s voice soared to the vaulted ceiling. A magical moment. But no less such than a couple of days later when we stopped in a small village for breakfast. We had set out early and wolfed down the toast and milky coffee. We asked the woman behind the bar how to find the route out of the village. “Oh you just turn right and go down to the main road and turn left.” We set off and couldn´t find any yellow arrows. However she had been so sure of her directions we continued. Next we heard the horn of a car sound behind us. It was the woman. She jumped out, “I was wrong” she said, “follow me.” Off she went driving slowly  and several steeets later we found the arrow. We couldn´t thank her enough for her help and she couldn´t stop apologising.

The last time I was here in Toledo the town was subdued in the aftermath of September 11. But it was still full of tourists, I waited in the queue, paid my money and shuffled round the cathedral with several hundred other visitors. The sacristy was breathtaking despite the crowds. I decided that this trip I´d go to Mass in the cathedral rather than sightsee. Last night we went along for the 6.30 mass. Whilst waiting I explained to an attendant that we were pilgrims and asked if we could get the stamp of the cathedral. Having consulted on his walkie talkie he told us to wait by a locked gate. Another attendant opened it and said just go into the sacristy and wait for the nun to come with the sello. The cathedral was closed. The sacristy was silent and empty. The lights were ablaze and we saw it in all of its glory. We didn´t mind at all waiting for the nun.

We now make our pilgrim way to Avila. I have no idea what will happen next. In fact I have stopped thinking about that. I know my mind will continue to be occupied with thoughts inpsired by the sights and sounds of the camino, the people we will meet and those unexpected moments like when the afternoon sun is beating down and a breeze ruffles the hair of the crops lining the path cooling the sweat on my back. Momentary and exquisite. We are blessed.

Take care everyone. Thanks for your messages. I´ll write again when I can.

Abrazos

John

 For more photographs go here   

A letter from a place in La Mancha

Dear Friends

When I read Cervantes many years ago I never thought I´d see the land he described in Don Quixote. For the last few days I´ve been vividly reminded of the story as I have walked along streets with the name through little villages in this southern region of La Mancha. When I met the man himself I could hardly believe I was here. It is day 11. We have walked 276 kms of this 1300 km route and we have stopped in a town called La Roda to rest, do a washing and plan the next steps. I´ve found a Locotorio with a dodgy internet connection and a dysfunctional keyboard so I thought I would let you know how we are doing. Thanks to everyone who has emailed me.
We arrived in a bustling Valencia on Monday 16 May. It was hot and the place was full of tourists. We had considered staying a day or two to explore the city but the combination of English voices and the magnetic allure of the Camino made us decide to set out the next day.

Having carefully dissected the weighty guidebook supplied by the Amigos Association we went to the Cathedral for our first sello. The giggling nuns couldn't believe we were undertaking such a long journey and were incredulous at our invitation that they join us. As we soon found out whilst the pilgrimage to Santiago is known throughout Spain there are so few pilgrims on the Camino Levante we have been treated to curious uninhibited stares for the last 11 days.

On leaving Valencia we were soon out in open countryside as over the next days this Way revealed its initial characteristics. This is a long, epic, blockbuster of a route where the vistas sweep to the horizon. It can only be done poco a poco as each stage has its own challenges and rewards. Some days have been hard. They have all been exciting. Quickly the days have started running into each other. What day of the week it is is largely irrelevant on camino and I had to ask today what date and day of the week it is!

The first days we passed rice fields which stretched for miles then acres of green, lush orchards where our passing shoulders brushed trees laden with nectarines, oranges and plums of many varieties. It has been hot walking with many stretches without shade counterbalanced frequently with the bubbling sound of water rushing and gurgling along seemingly endless irrigation channels. Fields of ripening wheat sitting at the bottom of mountains bedecked with lines of windmills give the impression that this is truly a land of plenty. As we go along farmers ploughing rich ochre soil and workers bent at backbreaking picking wave or stop to chat. Our destination seems incredible to them. When they hear we are both from Scotland they laugh as if we really must be joking.

Whilst inevitably in the bigger conurbations people are less spontaneous with us the engagement of local people in our pilgrimage has been the most moving and arresting aspect of our journey so far. Each day we have met people whose open hearted generosity has made us wonder what will come next. Let me describe some of it to you.

We´ve been welcomed into churches and homes along the way. In Almusaffes the priest gave me the biggest hug when he heard we were pilgrims. Farther on a big, gruff farmer in blue overalls chomping a fat cigar grunted “hola” in return. A moment later he called us back to give us themost delicious oranges. In another village church we discovered the women of the pueblo leading a Eucharistic service. They beamed to find pilgrims with them. “Hug the Saint for us” they shouted after us as we left. In Xativa the hostal owner came to meet us to show us the way. “This is a good thing you are doing.” He said. In Vallada one afternoon temperatures were soaring. We took a chance and pressed the doorbell of a casa rural which had a sign saying works were being carried out. The lassie who answered said that she didn´t have a room but could let us have a self-catering apartment. This was the same price as the hostal the previous night. Homemade dinner,breakfast and packed lunch made this the cheapest stop so far. In the albergue in Almansa we met Willy from Austria and a sullen,silent Italian man. We never saw the Italian again. Alas a couple of days later Willy, veteran of the Camino Frances and the Via de la Plata decided this route was not for him and departed. Passing field after field of red poppies as we entered the next place a man came out of his house and asked if we needed anything. “Cold water, please”. He invited us in to meet his family who were finishing lunch. We took the water gratefully but had to turn down the offer of fresh creamcakes. We slept in the convent that night welcomed by the delightful nuns. I counted the entries in their visitors book. Only 90 pilgrims had stayed in the last three years including a greeting from my friend Andy.

We then braced ourselves for the unavoidable 38.5 km stage to Higueruela. For this and some other stages we had to carry the water and food we needed for the day. Our budget is 1 litre each for every 2 hours walking. Go figure the weight. We set out early and our shadows were long in the light of dawn.

After an hour or so we encountered a pilgrim walking towards us. Was this some hardy soul walking home from Compostela? We asked ourselves. No, this was a Valenciano who was giving up. “This route is too hard and I have blisters,” he said miserably. We continued on and it was a beautiful day of walking. At around 27 kms just as our feet were throbbing in the full heat of the day the waymark told us to turn Left and walk the final 10.7 kms on the road. Grimacing we set to it. A while later a car drew up being driven by a doctor on call. “I´m a member of the Amigos of the Camino in Albacete. Do you need anything?” he asked. No sooner had he driven off when the police drew up. “Be careful,the national cycle race will pass soon.” So it did. The cyclists went whizzing past with full entourage including press and TV. I wonder if they even noticed the two baking pilgrims walking slowly up the road.
Just as the heat and the length of the stage were making us despair we came accross a group of partying young people.They had set up a picnic table laden with beer, sprits and refrescos at the side of the road.They had obviously been celebrating the cyclists passing by. In any major city of the world we would have given such young people a wide berth but this is rural Spain.They called us over, were astonished at our pilgrimage and insisted on sharing with us. We refused the proferred whisky or vodka but greedily consumed the lemon fanta with ice. “Only 2 kms to go” they shouted as they waved us off.

As if to welcome us there was a full blown fiesta in the village with procession and marching bands. The band appeared in the restaurant later and played until late. That night we slept soundly in the comfortable albergue. We were delighted as we discovered it has a freezer and we were able to freeze all of our bottles of water for the following day. This meant as it slowly melted we had cold water to drink until the afternoon. This has long been one of my crazy business ideas for the Camino Frances. Somone will do it!

We´ve met three other walking pilgrims in this first phase. Two gave up and the Italian disappeared.

On the way into Albecete we met Eneco who was clocking up an average of 100 kms a day on his bicycle and yesterday just before I chatted with Jose the shepherd three other cyclists rode past at speed.

Our daily routine has become established. Walking separately for a period of prayer and reflection in the morning and afternoon. Scouting out the arrows together when necessary although to be honest this has been seldom on this perfectly waymarked route. Sharing the costs of accommodation for hostals and company for each other in the evenings for Mass and dinner.

Physical problems have been minimal.One negligible blister for me and a couple of days of walking in long sleeves and trousers for the Big Man due to his unenthusiastic use of sunscreen. All fully recovered.
We´ve kept our kit to a minimum which has been difficult for a route which will take the best part of 7weeks. For example that´s 7 weeks worth of prescription drugs we´ve both had to to carry.
My biggest bonus has been my Kindle and I am slowly working through the 12 books I bought for this pilgrimage journey. Yesterday I downloaded DonQuixote to browse again. After all I am in La Mancha.
I hope you are all well wherever you are. I´ll write to you again whenever I can.
Buen Camino
John
Ps –you can see more photographs here