All four of us took the “easy” tour of exploring the coastline of a small bay via zodiac boat. I was able to use a few pointers from Jorge’s nature photography lecture. Namely, get eye level with the creature. To do so on this pic, I hung over the bow of the zodiac (safely, Mom, I promise!) and got this gem.
Jennifer leans over the side and catches this sea lion playing with a sand dollar. He shows us the silver dollar, then flips it on top of his head. Rinse and repeat!
After the zodiac ride Donna and I go snorkeling in the same area we explored from the boat. Sea lions love to “play” with snorkelers, too–not just sand dollars. I learn you can scream into a snorkel.
We visit the giant tortoises for which the archipelago is named on the island of Santa Cruz. Only four islands in the Galapagos are inhabited by humans, and Santa Cruz Island is home to about 20,000 people. The tortoises roam freely in a huge nature preserve in the highlands.
Our previous days have all been volcanic deserts and coastal wanderings. Today we zodiac to the pier and board a van with a naturalist head for the tropical (rainy) highlands. From the van, I start snapping pictures of road-side tortugas. (Spanish has one word for turtle, tortoise and terrapins, which is much easier to type.) I eventually delete all those blurry shots because we are able to walk among them later.
Don’t fret. He’s yawning. Tortugas don’t have ears. They can’t hear us approach no matter how loud we are. They feel us, however, if we stomp around. Our goal is to not make them retract into their shells.
The preserve loans us rain boots for the expedition.
Portrait mode is awesome!
Side eye from this Tortuga.
In other activities on other days, we encounter more Blue Footed Boobies, more zodiac rides and more fine dining.
Portrait mode again. Donna and a chocolate martini.
Martha and I cook our own pork sirloins on a hot, sizzling stone.
It is Day 4 as I write this, and truly, the best way I can think of posting an update is with photos and two stories that stand out just from yesterday’s expedition. One theme throughout is that this ship, our naturalists and crew are dedicated and passionate about preserving this treasured, unique place on earth.
When you see a close up photo of a creature, know that there is some zooming and cropping going on. But the amazing thing is that because the Galapagos have been so protected, the wildlife do not see humans as predators. We respect their space, of course, yet they don’t bother to move away. And young sea lions want to play with you! (But we back up and don’t engage.)
We travel to our ship via zodiacs from this pier. Fun fact: the currency of Ecuador is the American dollar. Makes math easy peasy.
The Silver Sea Origin is three years old and custom built specifically for use only in the Galapagos. It can host 100 guests max. We never dock or even drop anchor. If we are in one place for a while, thrusters are somehow programmed to gently keep us rotating. To and fro any landing site is via zodiac boats, and we are informed the night before whether it will be a wet or dry landing. (That way we know whether to pack hiking shoes in our backpacks or not.)
The Flop, reprised in our stateroom.
A lesson in perspective. Our first “activity” under sail is to circumnavigate Kicker Rock. We have nothing to do with the navigation. We just pose and observe how the view dramitically changes based on location and lighting.
Same rock, other side.
Before our trip, when we told people we are going to the Galapagos, the most common, practically Pavlovian, response is “Blue-footed boobies!” After a day or so on the ship, the guys eventually got tired of working “booby” and “boobies” into every conversation.
And here is my up close and personal pic of the Blue-Footed Booby. Fun fact: their feet don’t turn blue until they are at least five years old. And the better they are at catching fish, the bluer their feet become. During mating season, the females swipe right based on the intensity of that blue. (It means he’s a good provider!)
I’m not sure how the Blue-Footed Booby got so famous, because, look–there are Red-Footed Boobies, too. (With blue beaks.)
Smiling selfie to and fro in zodiac boat.
Love is in the air. Or in the case of these iguanas, love is on a rock. We learn that because the female (on the right) is not scampering away, she likes the “attention” of the male.
The sweetest love story ever told. Well, sweetest as far as birds go. Our Naturalist Savina had our group sighing and smiling over the mating ritual of the Magnificent Frigate shown below.
Mr. Magnificent has a red gullet that normally look like saggy, red turkey gullet. Today he is trying to attract a mate, so he puffs out his chest, fills the “balloon” with air, flaps his wings and hollers his clickety clacking mating call when he sees a female cruising the neighborhood overhead.
Miss Magnificent checks him out, circling lower and lower, and if interested, she’ll land on the nest. What is she looking for? Has he built a nice home for Me? Is it a make-shift flat or a home in which we can raise a family? When she lands to introduce herself, does he have an engagement ring? (Looks exactly like a twig to me, but she thinks it’s great.) Taking the twig is not yet a “Yes” to the proposal. Apparently there’s a correlation to the size of his puffed chest and other anatomy required to reproduce.
If she likes what she sees there, she accepts his proposal by–get this–resting her head against that puffed up red chest, and then pressing it flat to say Mr. Magnificent is MINE. (Only for one mating season, by the way.)
Sea lions love to pose. I know they’re just enjoying the sun, but really, this one is going for a cover story.
Then our guide volunteers to get a picture our small group “with” the sea lion. (BTW, there are no seals in Galapagos. Only sea lions.) She used one of our iPhones and took 39 photos, hoping to get the beautiful aqua blue wave behind Leo the Sea Lion. ONE, this one, caught it!
Sea lion pups abound this time of year, Spring in Galapagos. Our guide Savina is explaining that the mom will give birth on or near the costal rocks because after the birth, she can use the boulders and crevasses to assist with the “disposal” of the afterbirth. (Which is a feast for the seabirds.) As we turn the corner at the end of her story, she points out a flock of sea birds hovering above and diving around a sea lion “posing” on a rocky outcropping.
As if on cue, we discover it is a mama sea lion who has just given birth. The birds are, well, doing what sea birds do with the after birth. (I gracefully declined the offer to have that picture AirDropped so I could post it here. You’re welcome.) Mom is guarding and protecting her little newborn with barks and nips at the air. (The birds would not harm the baby, but mom has an opinion anyway.)
And here we are, below, on a zodiac that will take us to a deep water snorkel spot. The ship provides the wet suit, mask, snorkel, fins and a naturalist guide in the water. It’s a “deep water” snorkel only because we dive from the zodiac and won’t be able to stand on the coral or anywhere else. The visibility is awesome and the water temperature is “refreshing.”
Stay tuned, and I’ll post more when I can! I think the giant turtles are up soon on the agenda.
On the outskirts of Cusco is Saqsaywaman, an Inca fortress that is an amazing example of unique Inca architecture. Each stone fits perfectly together, and the tallest is almost 9 meters high! These huge stones were fabricated 10 miles or more away and then rolled on logs pulled and pushed by teams of men. Not slaves.
The Incas “rotated” their teams of workers every two years. Of course the most grueling and least favorite job was rock rolling. But it was not your forever lot in life. After two years, your job could be farming. We’re talking 1438!
Pronunciation guide: Sexy Woman. I’m not kidding. Even the local guides call it that. Aren’t you glad you read the fine print?This gives you perspective on how huge these stones are. Remember they had to be cut elsewhere, based on precise architectural drawings and then moved to this site. Look at the rows of “cubes” that formed the walls above foundation. No mortar. Later we learn about the joints carved for stability.
Imagine the stone on the right as a page in a book. When you “turn the page,” those grooves line up. But they are now like a tube. The Incas knew enough about earthquakes that they filled that area with melted bronze. Not because they didn’t have iron or steel yet. The wouldn’t have used it if they did. Bronze expands and contracts, making the walls less likely to fall. Again, 1400’s!
Great setting for photographing our Tauck tribe.
Cusco hotel is a former monastery behind the main square and cathedral. We will spend two nights here giving us a choice of how to spend our full day on Thursday, Oct. 10. John and I choose the half-day tour of “old Cusco,” and Donna and Martha choose the all-day tour of the highlands and their villages. (Donna is my guest blog photographer further down.)
This is my “blog spot” in the hotel and where I spent the second half of my day after the morning tour. And my signature drink: te negro frio. (Black iced tea.)
Fun (?) fact about that tree in the courtyard: It’s the oldest, lone cedar tree in Cusco. The Spanish cut down cedar forests to build altars and the choir loft inside the cathedral during the colonial period. Young cedars have been planted, but nothing close to the grandeur of this one.
Stay with me. The colonized Incas make their mark in a way that lives forever.
Cusco School of Painting. The influence of the Spanish brought about a new style of art, one that combined Inca traditional elements with European imagery and techniques. Imagery was the most successful tool used by the Spaniards in their quest to Christianize the Andean population. By teaching locals to paint Christian subjects, they were able to infuse Christianity into Andean traditions. The Inca artists copied existing works of religious art for the Cathedral, and they frequently inserted subtle and not-so-subtle elements from their Inca religion.
We are not allowed to take photos inside the cathedral, so I take notes on the most memorable example of this “hybrid” form of painting.
Behold, Marco Zapata’s interpretation of “The Last Supper.”
Yes, that’s a guinea pig with legs akimbo in the center of the table. But, wait, there’s more.
Notice that the Disciples are all looking at Jesus or toward heaven. Except for Judas, the figure in the lower right who seems to be peering at us. Sorta makes sense in that he betrays Jesus and looks shifty. Da Vinci’s depiction of Judas is not even close to Zapata’s.
Zapata inserted the face of Francisco Pizarro, known as the Spanish conqueror of the Inca Empire and founder of Lima as the face of Judas the traitor.
Our guide tells us that it took decades for any Colonials to notice it.
And now, photos from the Highlands Tour, brought to you by my Guest Blogger Donna Halker and her assistant, Martha Ross.
Families welcomed us to their homes, taught us how to make a stone-ground sauce that we enjoyed at lunch. The baby llama is a pet!
Martha models a handcrafted, soft, cuddly hat made of alpaca. (No alpacas were harmed in the process. They are sheared every two years.)
The next day is all-day travel to Guayaquil, Ecuador. We fly from Cusco to Lima and then transfer to the International Terminal to fly to Guayaquil, Ecuador. (I learn that there are no direct flights to the Galapagos; you must stay in Quito or Guayaquil before flying to the islands.
Guayaquil hotel is palatial. We leave Cusco at 6 am and arrive at our Ecuadorian lodging at 5 pm. Our room is crazy big. Below, John demonstrates The Flop, a non-yoga move invented by my granddaughter Bailey when she and I travelled by various sundry transportation vehicles to the Youth Leadership Conference at my National Speaker’s Association annual convention.
Photo credit: Donna Halker, with a nod to the rule of thirds.
Popcorn for breakfast!
Chocolate mousse ala Ecuador for after dinner dessert.
This is the day that all 29 of my new traveling Tauck friends are waiting for. Machu Picchu. I know from the get-go that we are not going to walk the 26-mile Inca Trail, which is how my daughter and son-in-law did it. (Day 2 is alleged to be the worst, where you’re hiking up and down to 12,000 feet.)
We are taking the train. And I am quietly disappointed that we have to make a stop first, at some ancient Inca ruins in a city called Ollantaytambo (oy-yahn-tie-tahm-bo). It’s a massive Inca fortress with large stone terraces on a hillside.
Shame on me. Turns out it is oldest still-inhabited Inca city, and we learn so much about how and why and where the Incas built their cities. The perfect primer for appreciating Machu Picchu later in the day.
See that line down the middle of the street? It’s an irrigation channel still flowing from the original Inca aqueduct.
And of course, we walk through the main Square where there is plenty of shopping to be had. Try as I might, I can’t convince Donna to buy this hat.
And here we are posing before the steep steps and terraced “layers.” Our group is going climb to the fifth terrace and reconnoiter to learn more from our local guide. (Not to mention gulp water, pant, gasp and wait for our hearts to stop pounding out of our chests like a Looney Toon cartoon character.)
Did I mention steep?
How embarrassed am I to learn that Ollantaytambo is the most popular train station to embark on the Machu Picchu journey?
Very.
In fact, most porters that accompany the hikers live here. Mile marker 82 is the stop for the hikers. We are taking the train “all the way.” At least as far as the public bus station at the end of the line. Then we board a bus and wind our way to the entry point.
Spoiled rotten. We disembark the public bus at the entry gate to Machu Picchu. Entry to the park is limited and by appointment only, and our entry window is between 2 and 3 pm. We have 45 minutes to kill, so we check in to our rooms at, yes, The Sanctuary Lodge.
And then we are there. We hike a short while on switch backs, including a small section of the Inca trail, and after a steep climb up steps, we arrive at a terrace.
And there she is. Machu Picchu. Old Mountain in the Incan language of Quechua.
Those red lanyards and “badges” around our neck identify us as authorized to be on Circuit 2, which is the upper area of the Park. We are able to go lower, and we do, but the sun is setting and to go any lower requires a new reservation and appointment.
Llamas roam freely. In that we are there as dusk approaches, the llamas are ready to gather for the night. We are exploring the “residential” area when a herd of about 20 llamas drop in for Happy Hour.
See that anachronistic greenish blue contraption in the photo above? That’s where the llamas all nestle together for the night. Around it. Not in it.
That night, the conversations are filled with awe and wonder. Egad. That sounds so trite. But we all experienced something unique, and we shared it freely with people we’ve only known for a few days.
In a very different way, but yet still the same, I am reminded how Donna and I felt connected to the throngs of people who had completed the Camino de Santiago in Spain. It doesn’t matter who you are, how far you walked or where you started–you shared something deep inside that connects you no matter what.
That being said…the return train ride the next day is quiet. Until La Banda sets the tone in the “observation car.” What a way to celebrate an amazing accomplishment, no matter how you define it.
Turn up your volume.
If Machu Picchu has been at all on your radar screen or bucket list, we say, as we often do these days…
Lima to Cusco flight. We must have our bags packed and outside our hotel room at o’dark 4 am on Sunday, Oct. 6. The bus to the airport leaves at 5 o’yawn. Yes, there’s breakfast available, but, really, regardless of time zone, who needs to eat at 4 am?
We do, apparently. See food? Eat some.
Tauck took care of everything by way of delivering our luggage to a safe area for us to claim once we arrive at the wee hour of 6 am. We are handed our boarding passes by Zack the Tour Guide, and the bags are already tagged. We just hand them over with our passports and “poof” we go through security.
And wait. And wait. And change gates, but only once. Truly–I had imagined so much worse.
Arrive Cusco and get outa there pronto! Why? We left sea level at the crack of dawn and are now suddenly at 11,150 feet. Zack says we are going down to about 9,400 feet to the Tambo de Inca Resort and Spa located about midway down the Sacred Valley. If he told us once, he told us mucho veces:
Go slow. Your body has less oxygen and that means it has to work extra hard just to fuel your circulation.
Digestion slows down at high altitudes, so remember, “I know it’s Tauck, but you don’t have to eat all the food we put in front of you.”
Drink water, drink water, drink water.
And look what Tauck gave us to help with the latter!
Head for the hills and then Sacred Valley. We board our deluxe vans (Donna, John and I are still Llamas) and drive over the Andes peaks that surround Cusco. “Stretch your legs” break at the east end of the Sacred Valley. Sneak preview of where we’ll descending and staying the night. (Machu Picchu is at the west end of the Sacred Valley.)
From the patio of our “rest stop” (aka Bathroom Break).
John, Terri and Zack our Tauck Guide. Zack also guides Zion, Brice and Yellowstone Tauck tours.
Weather was nice enough for John to remove his pullover. Trust me, that doesn’t happen very often!
The Hand. No one wanted to walk to the palm for a photo op. Heck there’s a net under there.
We arrive at Hacienda Huayoccari for lunch at a private estate, surrounded by the family’s crops and stables of Peruvian Paso horses.
More causa, (this was even better than the other one), local greens, tomato and creamiest avocado ever. Yes, that’s a Pisco Sour in the upper left corner.
Terri in front of terraces.The hacienda includes a beautiful setting for weddings overlooking the valley.
Peruvian Paso Horses. We learn that the Paso horse has a unique inherited four lateral gait (style of walking), which is the breed’s trademark. Translation? They don’t gallop, and that makes the Peruvian horse one of the most skilled and smoothest riding horses in the world.
And they can dance in time to music! Watch:
Tambo del Inka Resort and Spa has the best welcoming committee EVER. Baby alpacas. Donna and I dropped our purse/backpacks in our rooms and bolted back to the entrance lawn.
Next day will be Machu Picchu. Sort of. Eventually.
We start our day on “The Big Bus” and head for the historical city center and Capitol. We will divide into two groups of 15 and 14 when we get there. Llamas and Alpacas. We are Llamas. Later we will ride in two different short buses because the streets are so narrow.
Fun facts about Lima and Peru. Richard, our local guide, regales us with a wealth of information:
Peru has 90 micro-climates with the coast, highlands, jungle and rainforest being the major climate zones.
Peru “domesticated” 3,500 varieties of potato! They are the world’s biggest exporter of asparagus and quinoa.
The biggest war in South America was over bird poop. It was between Bolivia, Chile and Peru over the Chincha Islands off the coast. Apparently that’s where large sea birds did their business in the 19th century. Guano deposits were 30 meters thick in some places. Guano was used in the production of fertilizers and explosives, which made it a profitable commodity. I can’t remember the details of the outcome because I am still trying not imagine 30 meters of bird poop.
Balconies. I’m picturing the Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo kind. Not in 16th and 17th century Peru. The “modernized ” one on the gold building has glass windows. Big issue for the aristocratic husbands and fathers of yesteryear. It’s one thing for the wife and daughters to look out the window. Quite another for them to be seen from the street.
The balcony on the green building is preserved from the early 1600s. (Spain conquered Peru in 1532.) Ladies can look out, and not be seen from below.
Oldest home in Lima. Built in 1535 it is the oldest colonial house of Lima. It is still occupied by the descendants of the founders, Aliaga family, who were beside Pizarro during the conquest of Peru. Lovely to tour.
A shame that my favorite picture is this one. My first thought is wow, what a beautiful courtyard. My second? This is why our HOA in the desert doesn’t allow ficus!
Lunch at a private “summer home” in Mirafloras. When you travel with Tauck, they find amazing venues to entertain you, including this private home, Alvarado Garcia Alvarado house. The granddaughter, Anna Marie, is our hostess and we dined in her courtyard with musical accompaniment.
Introducing the iconic drink of Peru: the Pisco Sour. Pisco is along the lines of a brandy, 43% alcohol, shaken vigorously with Pisco, lemon, simple syrup and egg white. This one, here is delicious. Think: margarita-like. (It’s the beverage directly under our waiter’s buttons.)
Causa. My daughter and son-in-law told us to definitely eat two things–causa and ceviche. Causa is a layered dish with potato, sometimes tuna, avocado and more potato. Who knows which of the 3,500 varieties of potatoes this one is, but it is delicious.
Ceviche. I am skeptical when my daughter tells me that the ceviche is unlike any in the US, and, in fact, it took them a long time before they ever order it State Side. Really? What’s to modify beyond lime, fish and maybe some minced peppers or onions?
Answer: everything. OMG. Unbelievably tender, flavorful, not too “limey” or strong. We all moan in unison at the first bite. Those large pieces are the ceviche. Note the size of the corn grown in Peru as well.
Spoiler alert. I write this three days after leaving Lima. Just so you know, we made it to Machu Picchu and I will post oh, so much more later.
Uneventful. That’s how we like our travel to the airport and flying to our destination. And that’s what we got. The most exciting part was Mr. Rocking Red Shoes on the flight from LAX to Houston.
Airplane lighting doesn’t do justice to the spiffy, sparkly bling on his Bose headphones. Zoom in for better effect. Mr. Rocking Red Shoe Guy played the air guitar–and I mean really really played the imaginary left hand chords–as well as air piano and drums. The. Whole. Time.
The usual suspects. John and I are traveling with Donna on a Tauck tour that will takes us from Lima, Peru to Cusco to Machu Picchu, back to Cusco and then to Ecuador and a 7-day small ship cruise of the Galapagos Islands.
Donna and I start our travel the way we always do. Sparkling!
Luxury in Lima. We arrive at our hotel around 10 pm Friday night. Check in. A little more sparkling and posing out front before bedtime.
Saturday we explore the area. Lima is the Capital of Peru, on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. We learn that the sprawling city is made up of 43 districts (think: municipalities) each with their own Mayor, police and “city hall.” We are in San Isidro in south Lima, and walk to Miraflores to check out the cliffs above the beach.
Areunion with Martha! When Donna and I finished our first Camino de Santiago (Portuguese Coastal Route ~200 miles starting in Porto), John and our friend Don met us in Santiago and then we four flew to Budapest for our first Tauck tour. A river cruise to Prague on the Danube. And that’s where we met Martha, who lives in Santa Monica. We’ve remained friends visiting each other up and down Pacific Coast Highway for seven years.
And now we get to travel together again! Here we are along the coastal trail above the sea.
John forgot to pack a baseball hat, but look at the dapper substitute he bought at the Mercado!
Sunday (mañana) Zach, our Tauck guide, will lead our group to the Main Square, local ruins, Barranco district and then the Larco Herrera Museum and a private dinner at Cafe del Museo.
Donna and I start many conversations this way now.
When I learned that “Rain” was the theme for TheMoth.org’s Los Angeles open mike StorySLAM event, Donna and I bought tickets. Once there, I put my name in the hat and was one of 10 lucky storytellers selected to go on stage and tell a 5 minute story (plus a 1 minute grace period) based on that theme.
The Moth stories must be true, told live, without notes. Three teams of three audience members judge the storyteller’s telling of the tale, based on the teller’s sticking to the five-minute time frame, sticking to the theme and having a story that has a conflict and a resolution. Winners of StorySLAMs advance to a GrandSLAM event, with a different theme and more time to tell their stories. I came in second by a fraction of a percentage point.
No big deal. Not why I was there.
You know from reading my blahg how much I like to write about the Camino de Santiago. The Moth gave me a chance to talk about it. From behind a microphone! (Deja vous all over again from my years of professional speaking.)
I’d forgotten how rewarding it is to make people laugh. Not to mention make Donna choke up just a tad at the memory.
Click the image of The Moth logo to watch the 6 minute video.
Buen Camino!
P.S. If you love listening to or telling stories, I recommend The Moth Radio Hour Podcast, available wherever you listen to podcasts.
Marcia is sitting across the card table from me as we play canasta last Fall. She mentions ever so off-handedly that she read a great “feel good” book over the summer.
“It’s called The Guncle. It’s funny and takes place here in Palm Springs.”
“The WHAT?” I ask, as I organize my cards.
“The Guncle. Stands for Gay Uncle. Or GUP—Gay Uncle Patrick. He ends up taking care of his young niece and nephew while their dad is in rehab in Rancho Mirage. Really funny and sweet,” she says as she discards a four of spades into the plastic tray.
Always looking for a good book to listen to, especially one both husband John and I can listen to together on road trips, I buy the Audible version of The Guncle. We listen to it on our drive to and from Colorado for Christmas.
Fast forward to February.
I suggest The Guncle to the two PGA West book clubs I belong to and volunteer to host at my house. So long as we do a first-ever combined meeting of the book reading minds, I add. Which gets me thinking. . .the author, Steven Rowley, lives in Palm Springs. Wouldn’t it be great if I could get him to come speak to us?
Squeals of “Oh yes!” from the Popcorn Book Club ladies make me realize I had said it aloud. I have one month to make it happen.
Or maybe not.
I visit his website, StevenRowley.com and see that all the contact information is via publicists. Three different publicists, one for each of his three novels. I learn movie rights are sold for each of them.
“Dang. This guy is big time,” I mutter to my husband and then tell him all I’ve learned.
“Good luck. You’ll never get him to come a little book club meeting,” John says.
I raise my eyes above my laptop screen, give him The Glare, and then do my best Barney Stinson imitation and shout, “Challenge accepted!” (Google it, if you didn’t watch Neil Patrick Harris in How I Met Your Mother.)
Patrick, aka GUP in the book, doesn’t do his own “sosh,” aka social media. Maybe Steven Rowley does?
LinkedIn lists 10 Steven Rowleys. None are authors. On Facebook I find the author Rowley (and a bus driver Rowley). I scroll and scroll the author’s page and agree with the eleventy-million fans who are commenting on his books. But I don’t want to approach him through a fan page.
Instagram for the win.
I scroll and scroll Insta (that’s what the cool kids call it, ya’ know). I discover a photo of Steven with ladies from the Carlsbad Book Club. Hope springs eternal.
Instagram? Hmmm. I think I have an account. Egad. Ancient history.
I better post a few pictures from this decade. Two cute pictures of Rusty, my labradoodle, because Steven is a dog lover, too. And one of the view from brunch at Ernie’s Bar and Grill, because “Brunch is awesome.” (Guncle Rule #1.)
I’m ready. I post a comment to his post about The Best Bookstore in Palm Springs. (That’s its real name.) I tell him that The Guncle is a fan favorite in PGA West and that it’s the March selection for two, count ‘em, TWO, book clubs here.
“I’m honored,” he replies a few days later.
“He replied! He replied!” I holler as I happy-dance around our island kitchen counter, taunting my husband. “He replied!”
“Is he coming to book club?” John asks skeptically.
“I haven’t asked yet. I only posted a comment. And he REPLIED!”
I not-so-calmly wait until the next morning to craft the official “ask” and share my email address via Insta. (Instagram, remember?) He replies again!
Holy cow, this might just happen. I’m trying not to hyperventilate.
I provide details of date, time, location, and format. Format being the Popcorn Book Club model in which the hostess (me) provides wine, water and popcorn. Period. After all, I add to my message, some of us consider popcorn a meal.
“I have you on my calendar,” he confirms, signing it “Team Popcorn Is a Meal.”
The RSVPs start pouring in.
On the day of the event, I haul every piece of moveable furniture I own into the living/dining room area, saving the best upholstered “throne-like” chair for Steven. Yes, I tell a couple of ladies, bring a few folding chairs, just in case more than 22 people show up.
And show up they do. Good thing I created a make-shift reserved parking sign so that Steven wouldn’t have to walk too far.
Despite being a Doubting John as to whether I could persuade Steven to come, I allow my husband to attend book club–as bartender. Which means asking what color of wine a woman wants and then pouring it. (Meetings sans authors are pretty much DIY when it comes to beverage pouring.)
As the ladies are scooping popcorn into their red and white striped boxes and claiming their seats, I am focused on the front door. I peek past the crowd, through the courtyard gate. Every 17 seconds or so. Why am I so nervous?
I confide to a few gals that my hands are shaking. Me, the Blah Blah Blah lady who hasn’t met a microphone she doesn’t love to use. This feels more like I’m an excited teenager waiting for my prom date to arrive.
Arrive Steven does. To fanfare, applause and caftans.
Now for the best part.
To get the dialogue started, I ask the “audience” to share a memorable moment from the book. Something that sticks with them, perhaps long after having read the book. A laugh, a tear, a gasp. One by one we share snippets of scenes or dialogue. (Don’t worry, no spoilers here.)
And Steven punctuates the conversation first with thanks, and then with some “behind the curtain” comments as to how and why he crafted something a certain way. His thank you is not about accepting the adulation of his readers. Well, a little bit, maybe. He also shared that it means a lot to a writer to hear what sticks.
“Being a writer is actually quite solitary work. With stand-up comedy, you know immediately when a joke lands. With a book, I can crack myself up writing a scene, but how do I know if anyone else thinks it’s funny? he says.
I ask about Grant, Patrick’s 5-year-old nephew.
“Why did you give him a lisp?” I think I know the answer—because it’s endearing, adds to the little guy’s vulnerability and sets up some humor, too. I’m right on all accounts.
But wait, there’s more “behind the curtain” to it than that.
“I knew there’d be a lot of dialogue, and I wanted a way to distinguish the kids without having to keep writing ‘he said, she said,’ over and over,” Steven explained.
Brilliant! I had not thought of that.
The bartender asks how much of the story is based on Steven’s own life experiences and family.
Steven volunteers that yes, he has nieces and nephews. Yes, he has a sister, but she’s not as mean as Clara, the sister in the book. Yes, he lost a very dear college friend to breast cancer. (Again, not a spoiler.)
“What about Patrick, the Guncle himself?” a caftaned fan asks. “How much of you, Steven, is there in Patrick?”
“Certainly some, but Patrick is richer, more famous and more handsome than me,” he teased.
Wrong on the latter, many ladies voice. And once the movie is made, wrong on the former as well.
“Someday, we’ll watch you on the red carpet and sigh, ‘We knew him when. . . .’” I predict.
The late afternoon flies by.
We hear more about the recording of the Audible version of The Guncle. Steven doesn’t just read the book, I say. He performs it, creating theater of the mind like no other, I gush, as Audible alumni ladies nod their agreement.
We know we can’t keep him much longer, so we assemble for a group photo with caftan-clad club members in the front row. Individual book signing and photos and farewells follow.
As Steven leaves, I hand him a box of popcorn for the road, hoping it truly isn’t his evening meal. When I see him drive away from the curb, and I know he can’t see me standing in the entry way, I close the door and turn my back to lean on it.
Challenge complete! And oh, so much better than going to prom.
If you’ve been keeping up with my blog posts as Donna and I walked the 500 miles of the Camino de Santiago, you may have noticed that my Mom, Patricia (Pat) Stoner, commented every time. She was often the first to do so!
Many of you have shared with me how much you enjoyed reading her comments.
Well, TODAY, Thursday, Sept. 29 is her 90th (yes, ninetieth) birthday.
She doesn’t do Facebook, and I would just love it if you could enter a comment here, wishing her, “Happy Birthday, Pat” today. I’ll make sure she sees them!
The Story I’ve Been Meaning to Tell
Here’s my mom a year ago at my daughter’s wedding.
The symbol of the Camino is the scallop shell. It is rare to see someone walking without a big one hanging outside the backpack. Donna and I bought ours Day 2 of our first Camino, the Portuguese Coastal Route in Spring of 2017. We carried them again on the 300 miles of the French Way from Burgos in 2019.
Donna framed hers and hung it on her living room wall, because, well, who’d have thought we’d be walking the Camino a third time? Let alone the whole 500 miles. She said she’s “unframing,” bringing it out of retirement one more time.
Last week we did a 12K walk (RT) from my house in Long Beach to Seal Beach to buy 40 shells each from the California Shell Shop on Main Street.
Here are my 40 shells.
And here’s the plan for them:
• The “theme” of our Camino is gratitude.
• On the inside of each shell, I will write the name of something or someone I am grateful for. So will Donna, independently, on her shells.
• Every morning we each pull a shell from our respective collections and carry that shell until we find a place to leave it. Sometimes there’s a connection. Like last time, when I left Laurie Guest’s shell in a corn field. (Read her bio, and you’ll get it.) Sometimes there’s no connection; it just looks like a nice place for a shell.
I also plan on leaving a few shells blank…for the Camino angel(s) I’m sure to meet along The Way.
And the yellow one in the middle? That one’s for me. I don’t know where I’ll leave it, but I’ll know it when I get there.
Stay tuned!
(Which is another way of saying, subscribe up there on the Home page. Whenever I post, you’ll get an email telling you I did.)
Donna and I say adios to LAX, Camino here we come! Yes, it was a Spanish sparkling wine.
We left LAX at 1:15 p.m. Friday, Aug. 12, arrived Paris at 9:30 a.m. and then connected to a flight to Biarritz. We got to Biarritz hotel around 4 p.m. Saturday and pinkie swore that we would not go to bed until dark.
Donna wants to get a picture of each “hotel” we stay in. The beds and the view from the window. These are at the Hotel Windsor in Biarritz. Our first night’s stay.
Donna’s “view from our window” in Biarritz.
Terri’s “view from the window” picture, taken from inside the hotel room instead of hanging precariously out the 6th floor window like Donna did.
Selfie looking back on the beach. Our hotel was one of the beige buildings on the left end of what is pictured in the middle.
We found a restaurant around the corner from our hotel that served an “early” dinner at 7:30 p.m. We were tucked in by 10 p.m. and slept until 8:30 a.m. Sunday.
We had time to kill until our 2 p.m. transfer by car to St. Jean Pied de Port, so we took off walking in the other direction from the day before, headed for the lighthouse.
The beach at Biarritz Sunday morning.
After staying up as late as we could Saturday night, we slept in Sunday and took about a 5K walk to the lighthouse at the north end of the beach. This is looking back from whence we walked.
The lighthouse in Biarritz, built in 1834. It’s 44 meters (~144 ft) high. The math is important. Read the post!
We could have walked to the top of the lighthouse, but a) it was an hour’s wait, and b) the next day we would be climbing 3,000 feet into (and over?) the Pyrenees. Or, for perspective, like climbing that lighthouse 20 times.
We had a cappuccino in a cafe and then waited for our ride to St. Jean. At 1:59 p.m. a driver hops out and yells, “Taxi!”
Right on time! Awesome. He hoists our two suitcases into the trunk, jumps back in and says cheerfully, “To the beach! Yes?”
Two big suitcases and we’re going to the beach, he’s making a joke. “Ha ha. St. Jean Pied de Port,” I corrected.
”The Port?” He clarified as he pulled away.
“NO, no, CaminoWays, St. John Pied de Port!”
”Airport?”
“No, we are going to St. Jean Pied de Port. To walk the Camino.”
”OK, St. Jean Pied de Port.” He enters something into his phone and Donna and I realize we have the wrong cab.
I said, “We already paid. CaminoWays paid. Wrong cab. Wrong cab. Go back.”
I don’t speak French, but I could tell that the words he spoke were probably not in the Duolingo curriculum.
As he made an illegal u-turn and double parked outside our hotel lobby, we saw a very confused looking couple talking to man with van. They were obviously packed for a day on the beach.
“Wrong cab, wrong cab!”
Our driver was sweet and friendly. Thankfully, he spoke Spanish, which seemed so familiar to me. It was a one-hour drive to St. Jean, and the scenery was stunning. Winding roads through tall mountains spotted with farms.
St. Jean Pied de Port
We’ll cross this river in the morning and the adventure begins! We walked around all afternoon hunting for the beginning of the Camino.
Found it! And then we reorganized every thing into what goes in our day packs (rain gear, first aid kit, Pilgrim’s Passport and 2 liters of water).
And we had two full-sized beds in this room on which to spread it all out.
We left St. Jean Pied de Port at 8:15 am. The red, white and green flags were strewn across the old town’s cobblestone streets to celebrate a Basque festival. We enjoyed marching bands during the day before and tried not to listen to the bands that played two-hour sets at 9 pm, midnight, and 2 a.m.
After
25K, nine hours and change later, we arrived at Roncevalles. The only place to stop for food or rest or beverage was at the 7K mark. We weren’t really hungry at that point but we split a “tortilla” to load some carbs.
(Tortilla in Spain is essentially potato and egg “quiche,” gluten free for yours truly.)
Our legs were wobbly and at the very end I said, “I feel like my legs are boiled spaghetti and I’m trying to control them with my brain alone. No tongs.”
In Between Time
The Camino through the Pyrenees is an uphill effort we’d never experienced before. Thankfully, the weather was perfect. We never had to put on rain gear, for one. And even when climbing above the tree line we enjoyed a light breeze. Sometimes we gave out-loud thanks for both shade and a breeze in the same stretch.
From whence we came is pictured above. Zoom in and you’ll see a road far below where I was standing to take this picture. Way down yonder is St. Jean terrain.
Bucolic is the word Donna and I used to describe the trek through and over the Pyrenees. At first we thought those beige things were rocks. Nope. Sheep.
Cattle roamed free and did not mind us at all. They wore huge cow bells, but we quickly learned that the free range herd of horses (not pictured on either of our cell phones) also wore bells. And so did the sheep.
This is the perfect setting. Shade. Flat-ish. Canopy of trees. Unfortunately, the same setting turned ugly when we took an “alternate route” that went straight downhill for almost 4K. No pictures to share because it was all we could do to not tumble down the trail.
At Last.
We had to wait in line to check in to our hotel room, and I was able to chat with the other travelers in Spanish. I asked questions of the receptionist in Spanish and translated the answers to English for Donna. Strangely comforting is the best I can describe the feeling or relief to be in Spain, where I have more words than in France.
We have a third floor room loft room at Hotel Roncevalles. Two full sized beds pushed together is luxurious to us.
View from one of the windows actually doubles as air conditioning. Thankfully it will be a cool, crisp night.
Before the projected rain pours down manana en la manana.
Having survived Day 1, we looked forward to Day 2 being shorter by 4K. The weather report said 88% chance of rain throughout the route, so we thought we were so smart to anticipate that it might still be a long day due rain.
Knowing we’d be donning rain gear a good portion of the day, we packed it at the top of our day packs, ready for prompt retrieval. We got an early start (for us, anyway) around 8 a.m. Before we got out of the hotel parking lot, quarter-sized rain drops splatted at our feet.
“What’s the rule?” We asked simultaneously. (See previous post called ABC’s of Camino under R for Rain.)
The Rule (learned the hard way): If it starts to rain, you put on rain pants AND your rain coat. And we did.
Yes, matching raincoats. (Pants not pictured, but trust me, they’re on.)
The walk out of town was through a beautiful forest, so we convinced ourselves that it must be a light rain, because the trees were blocking it from hitting us.
Donna in full rain gear, including backpack cover.
Fast forward about 5K and we realize that we must be taking one for the entire Camino team in the area because it still had not rained. Figures, we put on the rain gear and it doesn’t rain. We were too superstitious to take it off until after lunch, but by then the sun was shining.
Another forest with blessed shade. And a yellow arrow on the tree assuring us we were on the right pat.
We knew we had two mountain passes to climb that day, but we still had time to enjoy the scenery. And this time, get pictures of the horses.
What goes up must come down.
The uphill effort had our hearts beating hard, our lungs at full speed and capacity, as well as our leg muscles saying “hello again.”
It was the last 4K that killed us. Already tired and sore from the day before, we had to navigate a steep, rocky, craggy and often slippery trek down hill 1000 feet.
How anyone could complete that segment without poles is beyond me. We stopped talking. We stopped smiling. We were miserable, and it was all either of us could do except walk more like a four-legged creature than the humans we are.
Plant a pole, lean into it with your weight and then raise a foot and put it down oh, so carefully. Plant the opposite pole on your left side, put your weight into it, raise your other foot and carefully put it down.
Rinse and repeat umpteen times.
Going uphill is hard because you can hardly breathe and plod along slowly. Downhill is worse. Especially at the end of 7 hour day. Donna said it perfectly, “Everything below my butt hurts.”
We dragged our lower limbs into the town of Zubiri and had to spend a great deal of time in attitude adjustment. The shower helped. “Legs up the wall” was first. Then stretching as best we could.
Again, too tired and sore and exhausted to take a lot of pictures. But here’s the room for the night, and the view:
Day 3 was walking into Pamplona. Yes! THAT Pamplona ala the running of the bulls. We just missed them a month ago. Walking into a metropolis is not the most fun, so by the time we arrived at our lodging, we were a bit snarly ourselves.
A Pilgrim’s meal was not included that night, so we had to hunt and gather at nearby tapas bars. Poor us, right? More on that later, maybe.
Day 4 Out of Pamplona
We were excited for this day because it includes a climb up Alto del Perdon, the Hill of Forgiveness. At the top is a sculpture depicting a number of Pilgrims either on foot or on horseback as they make their way along the Camino to Santiago.
Look closely and you might see two people photo bombing everyone else’s picture.
Problem is, we took all sorts of amazing photos before and after the one above, but the WiFi at our lodging “down the mountain” in Puente de Reina has the
s l o w e s t
bandwidth EVER. The above is the only photo I could upload all night.
So, trust that we are safe, sound and strong at Day 4. We’ll get to the next post when we can.
The day started beautifully, from a little rural cottage in which we were the only Pilgrims. (Others were couples and families on vacation.)
Thankfully, the hostess said she would see that our luggage was taken down the stairs for the transport company to retrieve in the lobby.
In the charming city of Viana, we were treated to a walk down Calle Mayor (think Main Street in any Spanish town) right as 12:00 mass was letting out of the massive stone church.
Like salmon swimming upstream, we went into the church for a look around. The place emptied out pretty quickly, and I saw the priest exit through what looked like a private door to the left, let’s call it 9:00 on an old school clock. We were behind the altar (at 12:00 if you’re still with me), went past where he exited, and poof, the lights went out.
”I think we better head for the exit or we’re going to get locked in here!”
As we strolled to the exit, out comes the priest in his casual attire and says in Spanish, “I am happy you are here, but you are lucky that I am here, too.”
He had already locked the exits and escorted us to one he unlocked for us and wished us a Buen Camino.
The Calle Mayor was filled with people having lunch, beer, wine, bocadillos (snacks). Here’s what it looked like as a selfie from the end of the street.
Then, all we did was turn around and here’s a 900-year-old building behind us.
We then headed out of town.
And missed a turn.
We had walked at least 2K on a paved road through a vineyard (in the heat, sans shade) and were starting to be concerned. We hadn’t seen a single other Camino walker or biker in an hour. Finally a car approached us and I flagged him down.
I told him in Spanish that I thought we might be lost, and he said in Spanish, “Yes you are. This is not the official Camino.”
He (and his son in the backseat who spoke broken English) redirected us from whence we came.
As he pulled away, wishing us Buen Camino, I muttered to Donna, “I would have jumped in the backseat if offered.”
Donna said, “I would have stood on the back bumper and hung on for dear life.”
All in all, we added about 5K to the day and an extra 90 minutes in the heat. I ran out of water in my “camelback” with 4K left to walk through the city of Logrono, and there, like a little Camino miracle, appeared a water fountain in a park.
We arrived after 5 p.m., but we arrived. Here is the happy photo we took long before being almost locked in at the church and then a little bit lost after that.
We are doing about 22K a day and just finished the first one in full sun. Scenery is spectacular, with the vineyards starting to border our trail.
Friday night is in Estella, a picturesque, bustling town with OLD and new butting up against each other. Again, however, the WiFi is weak.
I don’t know how many pictures I can upload, so the caption will have to tell the story. And they are not in chronological order.
A natural arch of shade is something to celebrate!
See that town in the distance? Kind of like walking to the Emerald City. Except it’s not green. And the road is not yellow or brick. But other than that, the same.
Donna gets photo credit for the bridge crossing this morning out of Puente de Reina.Last night’s room at the inn.
Donna looking out the window with a view.
Legs Up the Wall pose from Pamplona. It’s the first thing we do when we get to the room after removing our hiking shoes. (Today, Friday, however, we were so sweaty and hot that the photo would have been sans pants. Or shirts.)
View from our window today, Friday, in Estella.
And this is the ultra modern room from which we look at the old church tower.
Hasta la vista amigos! Tomorrow will be another HOT day. Never underestimate the power of even a breath of a breeze. We are grateful, indeed.
Today, Saturday, Aug. 20 was Day 6 of walking, and we’ve covered more than 100K to date. Today’s “mileage” was 22K to our lodging. We knew it would be a tough one because of anticipated heat (93 degrees at the end of the trail), and the last “services” were at 9.5K.
That means no water fountains, no towns, no nada for four hours (or more?). And, did I mention the heat? In preparation, we decided to take the risk of leaving our rain coats, rain pants and backpack covers in the suitcase to make our backpacks lighter.
We filled our “camelback” water pouches to the brim, 2 liters.
Water or Wine?
Look what we found at the Monastery at 3K mark—la Fuente de Vino. The fountain of wine. One tap is water, one is wine. We didn’t bring cups, so we had to improvise.
Until two Italian bicyclists showed up and offered a tin cup.
Yes, it was bueno. Donna and I each took a sip and called it Camino communion.
(It has taken me more than two hours to create the above post. It’s getting close to bedtime, so I’m going to try and post the picture (I have a great video that I may put on Facebook) that captures the dramatic, albeit somewhat desolate scenery.
And we realized how precious our Camelback water reservoirs were when we stepped to the side of trail for a passing car.
“It’s the police!” I said. “What in the world are they doing out here?”
The car with two uniformed officers stopped beside us, rolled down the window and asked, “Esta bein? You OK?”
I answered yes in Spanish and the officer driving knew enough English to communicate that they were patrolling the Camino with the sole purpose of helping peregrinos (Pilgrims walking the Camino). He asked if we had enough water, we said we did by wiggling the spigot of our water bladders.
Then he told us that there are no water fountains in Los Arcos, which was our destination. And nothing between us and Los Arcos.
OK, we’re OK.
“If you need help, you call 062,” he said as he pointed to the outside of the driver’s side of the vehicle. “We here for peregrinos.”
When we truly looked at the vehicle and read what was on the side, we got so excited and touched by the focus of these men and their mission.
”Can we take a picture?” I asked in Spanish.
“Si, si,” he said, and took my phone from me.
And then Donna said, “We want YOU in the picture!”
Kojak of the Camino!
We ended the day in good spirits. That’s a win, trust me. The last 2 or 3K is when the mental game comes into play. Horse-to-Barn mode is not the best, but Grumpy Town is worse. Today was “Hot and Bothered, but Proud and Powerful.”
You chat with someone along the way, and you don’t learn their name, so you give them a label. So there’s Miami Man. Or Red Shirt Guy. New Zealand Gals. If we could keep up with the Boys in the Band, we would have. But they are three student-age looking guys carrying fully loaded backpacks and each one has what looks like a violin case strapped on, too.
Once you encounter someone again, maybe then you chat enough to ask the person’s name. Three years ago we forgot so many names that we promised each other that we would take pictures and capture names, too, this time around.
We said goodby to Bernard and Mrs. Bernard from France in Los Arcos. They were “only” walking as far as Logrono because the had to bet home in time for their daughter’s wedding.
Monday Night Made Merrier.
Monday night our lodging did not have a kitchen for serving dinner, so we had a voucher to a nearby place. Donna and I sat down early, which in Spain means 7:45 p.m.
A few more tables started to fill and we heard English being spoken at each one. New Zealand Gals were at one table (Sue and Michelle) and Aussie Couple were at another (Mark and Brooke). By the end of the evening we asked Man Bun the waiter to take our picture.
(L to R): Brooke and Mark (Melbourne), Sue (NZ), Donna, Me, Michelle (NZ).
Our room Monday night also got a nickname the moment we opened the door. Red Room. Not R E D R U M, I clarified to Donna (and for the benefit of any Stephen King fans.)
How hot was it Monday?
Very. Heat rash is an issue we hadn’t anticipated, but one trip to the Farmacia and we had relief cream.
Tuesday Morning Delight.
Turns out Sue and Michelle were staying our hotel. We saw them at breakfast and the introduced us to Mark and Margaret (M & M) from New South Wales.
We know that Sue and Michelle are staying in the same town we are Tuesday night, so we are hoping we see them again and perhaps can eat together.
As for Tuesday’s walk, I took a couple of videos to show the contrast. I’ll do a separate post and see if I can get them to upload. If not, I may have to resort to Facebook. (Sorry, Mom. I’ll email them directly to you if that happens.)
Surprise!
Your Lodging is 6K Past Where You Thought Your Day Ended.
We knew it would be a 24K day, which is long enough. When we checked the map profile against our lodging reservation. YIKES. We are in for a 30K day. (18 miles)
This is when the mental game kicks in. We instantly readjusted our mindset and took off. We voiced our gratefulness for clouds, wind, even a light drizzle, dense forest trails that took heat out of the equation. We arrived to our lodging at 6 pm, which is late for us. But we did it!
Now comes shower, dinner, crash.
Tomorrow, Friday, is the last day of new territory for us. We arrive in Burgos, and from there on, we’ve walked the path before.
That also means we will have walked a total of approximately 300K by end of day manana.
And, for fans of the “Room with a View” Series, here’s that night’s lodging.
Our room in the Parador of Santo Domingo. We learned there are two in this city. How? Donna’s suitcase was delivered to the other one in town.
We reminded ourselves that patience is a virtue and waited for her suitcase to be retrieved and delivered. We sat in the shade, in a cafe on the Calle Mayor (Main Street), comforted by cold sangria.
The view from the room’s window? Good reason to search elsewhere for the sangria.
Later, waiting for the “early” dinner seating at 8:30 p.m. at the other Parador in town, we were treated to people watching on the square.
We didn’t get to bed until 11 p.m., so not as much sleep as we would normally like, but when in Spain . . . You’re going to eat late.
Here’s our selfie the next morning, in front of the hotel’s tribute to Peregrinos. (That’s us. Pilgrims walking the Camino.)
And then, the highlight of the morning was seeing two new favorite young people. Meet Ponytail and Provence. (She’s Ponytail. He’s Provence. More on them later.)
Just when we were ready to huddle around the trunk of a tree by the side of road to get some shade, the road turned and we both said, “OH! I remember this place.”
You can get a bunk bed in the “albergue” room, but there is no electricity. We sat in the shade a while, cooled off and tried to imagine what the full hospital must have looked like in the 1300’s.
A caretaker was inside what looks like double doors in the photo above. I went in and looked at some of the photos on the wall, made a donation. He thanked me and wished me “Buen Camino.”
I joined Donna again on a bench in the shade and noticed that a man we’d seen off and on all day had taken a seat in another shady spot. Donna and I smiled, asked him how he was doing (Que tal? Esta bien?)
He was gingerly taking off his hiking shoes, which we had seem him do before, when we encountered him earlier in the morning.
Next thing I see, the caretaker is walking across the courtyard area with a small plastic tub of water and a towel. He knelt down and helped the man wash and soak his feet.
Castrojeriz to Fromista to Carrion de Los Condes
Monday/Tuesday 8/29 and 30
We knew what the morning would bring first thing—a steep climb that felt like it went on f o r e v e r three years ago. We had to stop three or four times back then. In fact, it was on that part of the trail that Donna “invented” chanting something in a rhythmic cadence to get ourselves to the top. More like a prayer, though. Not ala the Marine Corp.
Below is the sign that tells us peregrinos what we’re in for.
Zoom in on the triangles and you’ll read that it’s 1050 meter elevation gain. That’s 3,444 feet.
Because setting and keeping your own pace is critical on segments like this, Donna and I agreed, “See you at the top,” and set off.
Surprisingly (to me, anyway), we stayed within a car length of each other and only stopped once to catch our collective breaths.
We left several of the “grateful for” shells at the very top.It’s probably one of those “you had to be there” moments, because it’s difficult to capture the dramatic elevation gain with an iPhone.
Donna said, “It’s as close to heaven as we’ve been so far.”
The “Aha!” Revelation
As we walked around at the top, we high fived each other, and agreed that “it wasn’t as bad as I/we remembered it.”
And then we did some more math and realized that three years ago, this climb occurred on Day 3 of our Camino because we started that one in Burgos. This time, it was Day 15.
We. Are. Stronger.
Downhill From There
What goes up must come down, and that applies to the Meseta. Click the link below to hear and see what lay ahead of us down that hill.
Remember the 47% chance of rain I mentioned in the last post? Dead on. We made it up the hill and quite far in cool cloud cover, for which were most grateful.
But we didn’t out run the rain.
Another friend of mine told me once that “there’s no such thing as bad weather. Not if you have the right clothing.”
We did. Rain coats, rain pants and backpack covers got us through. And then, poof. The rain stopped and we were in sunny skies.
The last 3K of our path was delightful with shade trees on the left and a canal on the right.
Short Day Tuesday, With the Last 5K Not So Enjoyable
We had 20K to walk Tuesday, and most of it was along side a highway. No shade. Crops on all sides. And no shade.
We were so happy when Yonicka (yawn-i-kah) caught up with us. We met her Day 1 and saw her again in the rain on Monday. She walked with us a short way and told us about a fork in the Camino that would take us a little longer, but it followed a stream and had plenty of shade trees.
Our HERO!
The last 5K were back on the highway. Did I mention that there was no shade?
The mental game (for me, anyway) was, “OK, this is like walking to the gym in Long Beach, and doing a workout. I can do that. Except I don’t sweat this much walking to the gym. OK, so it’s more like a HIIT class. (HIgh Intensity Interval Training). Except that it’s only a 50-minute class and air conditioned. OK. I used to do 90 minute Bikram yoga in 105-degree room for 90 minutes. Yep. That what this is. Except I have long sleeves, long pants, a hat and 10-pound pack on my back. Other than that, pretty much the same.”
And here’s how we celebrated after getting to our lodging. (A monastery converted into a hotel.) We crossed a river on the way to the monastery and saw families enjoying a swim in the river.
We checked in to our room, donned bathing suits and waded in the cold, fast running current.
And pay no attention to my silly water tossing antics in the video below. Watch the dog in the background. (I miss my Rusty!)
We showed our Camino Credential that has a stamp for every day, and in return, we got fancy schmancy certificates in Spanish.
23K in Great Weather this Time
It was this segment of the Camino three years ago that taught us the hardest lesson we were to learn. When you put on your raincoat, put on your rain pants, too.
Why?
Because without rain pants, the water runs down your leg and into your shoes. Outsides of the shoes are Gortex, which is waterproof. Not true for the insides.
We’ve been enjoying Paul and Jenny from Australia, and tonight we encountered them again, here at the half way point. We may not be in the same towns again, so we were excited to ask a local to capture a pic.
Donna kept remembering and talking about the “tree-lined trail” in the Meseta. Over the past few days, there were plenty of snippets of that, but she kept saying, “No, there were crops on the left, the trees, our trail and a road, but not a highway.”
Today was the day. Of the 18K we walked, at least 16K was lined by trees. Like this.
If you look closely, you can see even older, shadier trees in the distance.
The sun was on our left, so we had dappled shade the whole way. We have established a trifecta of walking conditions, by the way.
Flat.
Shade.
Breeze.
Today we had them all, almost all the time. Cloud cover counts for bonus points if it’s hot. Today was cool in the morning, warmer in the sun, but with the shade trees, it was absolutely delightful.
The Morning Selfie
Every morning we take a morning selfie. I don’t post them all, but when looking through them last night, I thought we need to get a little more creative.
Here’s this morning’s, as we left Sahagun.
How Fast Do We Walk?
Not very, if we compare ourselves to most of the other people we encounter. But we don’t compare ourselves. We walk our own Caminos.
My Apple Watch will announce each kilometer and the pace. We started out being happy with 3K an hour, which is around 20 minutes for 1K. (Stop snorting and laughing!)
Turns out that we were tracking around a 20-minute kilometer when we were, I don’t know—climbing the Pyrenees or carefully crawling downhill.
Now, for the most part, we average 13-15 minutes per K, which means 4K per hour. A 20K day = 5 hours. Every now and then we hear my watch say 13:05, or 12:40. Our “record” was 12:15.
This morning we decided to see if we could beat our 12:15 time and get it down to 12 and a single digit. (12:09, for instance.) When my watch announced 2k, we quickened our pace.
We didn’t talk.
We didn’t change lanes to smoother terrain.
We kept to one path, and right before the path started to go uphill a bit, my watch announced, “Kilometer 3. 11 minutes, 15 seconds.”
We stopped and cheered and were dumbfounded that we cut an entire minute off our previous record.
And that was that. We wanted to focus on the path, the trees, the Meseta.
Beauty is in the iPhone of the Photographer
We came to a vast hay field that was freshly cut, not yet baled. For as far as we could see, there was nothing man made. Donna took a picture of me taking pictures.
We managed to arrive early in Leon because we remembered how much we loved our day off here in 2019. No days off, this time, however.
CaminoWays booked us at a different hotel, a Parador. We couldn’t believe it.
A former convent, pilgrim hospital and prison, it is stunning inside and out.
Crazy luxurious room. We feel like Royalty. Albeit dusty, road-weary Royalty.
Our most favorite shop from last year was open, but Antonio the calligrapher was not there to customize our purchases. Still, a highlight of the day.
Best Sangria so far. Cafe right on the Camino.
“May the rest of our lives be the best of our lives,” Donna toasts.
Normally, I’m not a fan of begonias. These are the exception, in front of the Cathedral of Leon and across from where we’ll be having dinner with Paul and Jenny from Australia. Italian food!
As we have walked these last 24 days (24 DAYS!?), I’ve looked forward to what Donna and I call “library hour,” which is when we Air Drop photos back and forth and I write my posts.
On the trail, I often think about what I might write later that day, and I look forward to doing so. (Words are my love language, remember?)
Today, Day 24, we arrived in Rabinal del Camino, a hamlet 21K from Astorga, which is where we stayed last night. Where we met Sue, Sue and her husband Chris, all from England. They told us about Steve and Carol from “somewhere in Southern California.” We met Steve and Carol this morning at breakfast.
We’re all here together in the same lodging tonight and we plan to eat together.
But when we walk into the lodging, we see Marie and Hilda, the fast-walking, delightful sisters we had dinner with four days ago. They’re from South Africa. This is their fourth Camino, and they plan to do 10 full Caminos. Perhaps one a year. We had a snack with them for more than an hour and invited them to join us and “the Brits” at 7 p.m.
And here’s what went through my head: OK, I want to post. It’s been 2 days, and my almost-90-year-old Mom looks forward to each and every one. I love that! But I don’t want to miss being “here,” in the moment, with new friends I may never see again, but whose memories will last forever.
So I decided to just post some photos with captions. (And look how much I just wrote without a single photo! I know.) Here goes.
We’re gettin closer and closer! Just under 300K to go.
Our favorite lodging from 2019, and we get to stay again. A farm house that was a former mill.
A former flour mill, a river runs right under the house.
Donna migrated to the garden and found a HUGE zucchini.
I was drawn to these. Of course.
Best of all? We got to do real laundry. With a machine and soap.
Actually, our host, Mercedes, was the best part. She remembered us from before and we let her know that hers was our favorite place of the entire Camino.
Ten minutes out the door, and we had to don our rain gear.
An hour later, the rain has stopped, and we cross a medieval bridge where knights battled. Our reenactment pales to the full-fledged events held in this village every year.
Which way? This is a welcome, clear sign. (Zoom in.)
As we leave the Meseta, the terrain, the trees and trail change.
A welcome oasis in the middle of nowhere, on the way to Astorga.
Sole-shredding surface. This was uphill. Tomorrow will be downhill. Treacherous, technical walking manana.
Just cuz it caught my eye. And it’s pretty.
Donna, Marie and Hilda. No one remembers what was so funny, but we’ll always remember the joy of the moment.
Mountain trails with perfect temperature and shade trees as a bonus.
We are not the only “seniors” on the Camino. These folks are from France.
Less than 200K to go!
When someone offers to take your picture, you say Gracias!
Fixer upper for sale in El Acebo.
The famous Iron Cross. People bring something from their home and leave it at the foot of the cross. It’s personal. So just know we each left something written on shells we’ve been carrying. Amen.
Sometimes, you find a place to sit on the side of the trail, sip water, munch your snack and marvel at the beauty in front of you.
Here’s a video of the El Bierzo wine district that we walked through on Friday, 9/9. I butcher the pronunciation in the video. Should be Bee-air-zoh. Brain boil after 22K of walking in the sun.
Tomorrow, Saturday, Sept. 10, we walk to the foot of O’Cebreiro and spend the night. O’Cebreiro is Latin for “Oh, so steep, you think you’re going to die.”
Saturday is my birthday. All I want is to kick some O’Cebreiro ass the next day.
Last time (2019) we tackled this climb after having already walked 22K. In fact, we stopped to “fuel up” with lunch at a charming B&B. We left the B&B in the late afternoon and didn’t arrive to the top until 7:30 pm. I melted down, almost literally, from the exhaustion and heat.
So, that’s why this time we purposely planned to tackle the mountain in the morning. In fact, we actually stayed at the B&B that had served us the lunch before the 2019 ascent.
Here’s our room, and I thought that having it be my favorite color was a good omen. Besides, it was my birthday.
Outside our door was a balcony!
And here is the view from our “library hour” table.
Here’s what was ON our table. Did I mention that it was my birthday?
Ice is difficult to come by in Spain, so when the ice in our wine bucket melted, I didn’t let it go to waste. A blister had formed during the day, and ice cold water was part of the cure.
We got an early start the next morning and walked about 2K before the trail started to climb. Here’s the “before” video:
Posing with a peregrina sculpture, also at the top.
Turns out our lodging reservations got changed, so we are in an Albergue, albeit with a private room and bath. Walking around, we discovered the town we’re in is known for cheese making. “Cow cheese” as our host explained.
We were checking weather forecasts frequently and knew we needed to be prepared for rain. Here’s our morning selfie for Tuesday, Sept. 13.
Yes, we have matching raincoats. Best rain coat I ever bought (from REI) because it covers my hips. We also named our raincoats “Olivia.” For Olivia Pope, the main character on the TV show Scandal. (She wore the most glamorous outer wear!)
The scenery is stunning these last couple of days.
We spent the night in Tricastela, which is a village nestled in the mountains. From O’Cebreiro there is a lot of downhill walking. A lot. Knees feel it the most, but thankfully there was beautiful scenery to distract us.
Room with a view.
In the village of Tricastela, we had a second floor room. And in Spain, the ground floor is numbered zero, so to the California Chicas, that meant three flights of stairs to climb. The view from our window was an interesting mix of old and new.
Nothing special about the room, but for you fans of Donna’s collection, here’s last night’s, below.
And the night before’s, also below.
Sarria is a big deal. That’s where we are tonight.
In order to get your Compostela certificate, you have to walk at least 100K. (Bicyclists have to ride at least 200K.) Sarria is 111K from Santiago, so it is the starting point for hundreds of people.
Last time, I let the crowds get to me, mostly when perky Pilgrims practically ran ahead of me that first day. But now, I don’t compare myself. I remember Teddy Roosevelt’s quote, instead: “Comparison is the thief of joy.”
This time I’m actually looking forward to seeing, greeting and maybe even meeting a few new people.
Here are a couple of video clips to enjoy from today.
(I have no idea why one looks like a video and the other is a link. Working from an iPad is a challenge.)
The walk out of Sarria was busy and crowded as predicted. Donna and I chuckled at how spiffy and sparkly the “new people” seemed. All you have to do is look at someone’s shoes to know if this was Day 1 for them. Mine used to be an olive green, but now are embedded with beige dirt.
Hills and dales and forests, oh my. Trees that created cathedrals with moss-covered rock walls lining the center aisle. Stunning two days of rugged walking.
Do you ever have a day or an experience in which you think, “I have to memorize this moment”? I remember saying that to myself on my wedding day. (And on my daughter’s wedding day, which was Sept. 18 last year. It’s also the day we’ll walk into Santiago tomorrow.)
Today, the day before we walk into Santiago was one of those days.
Will this be the last babbling brook we hear on the Camino?
Another “cathedral forest arch.” Will there be more? I don’t remember.
Will we see the 4 Hermanos (Brothers) again? The Denver Sisters? We had better get photos. (We actually got phone numbers so that we can connect in Santiago tomorrow.)
Arrived! Our boots on the ground in Cathedral Square at the end of a 500K walk from Burgos to Santiago de Compostela, October 2019.
I can’t believe it has taken me more than two years to write/post this. But it did. Rather than berate myself for taking so long, I choose to think of it as answering two questions I hear frequently: 1) Tell me about that Camino thing you did, and 2) What did you do during COVID restrictions?
Please enjoy.
Abecedarian. Straightforward, simplified; in literature, a poem or essay arranged in order according to the alphabet, often written about a single topic. This blog post, for example, re: my lessons learned from walking 300 miles of the Camino de Santiago, Burgos to Santiago de Compostela, September 10-October 3, 2019.
Backpacks. We carried daypacks with our rain gear, first aid kits, snacks, water and a few clothing layers that we figured we might need to don during the day. Each pack weighed maybe eight pounds with the the built-in bladder full of water. The tour operator, www.Caminoways.com, did the heavy lifting when they moved our luggage each day. They allowed 40 pounds each, and we happily complied. However, the transporter leaves the suitcases in the “lobby,” which means we had to heave and hoist our belongs to our room, 90% of which were up a staircase or two, in lodging sans elevators. Note to self: If there’s a next time, fewer shoes.
Chant. A repeated, rhythmic phrase; to recite something in a monotonous, repetitive tone. On the Camino, chanting is to a steep ascent what LaMaze breathing is to childbirth.
Donna started chanting on Day 3. We stopped at what we thought was the top of a steep stretch, only to discover the “optical delusion” that it was a curve. I was panting, and Donna shared that she found it helpful to set a tolerable pace with a silent or whispered God-bless-so-and-so chant. After I’d covered immediate and extended family at least thrice—and I still wasn’t to the top—I changed my chant. “I can do this, if You help me, I can do this, if You help me. . . .” Can you hear the rhythm of my hiking poles tapping out the pace?
Elevation gain. We soon learned that how far we were to walk each day was only one piece of information. The critical piece was elevation gain/loss. Uphill is slow and exhausting. Downhill may be faster, but it really boils down to being out of breath, or having sore knees
FAQ. Let’s do it Jeopardy style. The answer to the most frequently asked question we get is: Usually, in a roadside bar or behind a bush. Ladies, when you gotta go, you get over pee fright fast.
Go with someone you love. (Donna wrote that. Ahhhhhh.)
Hello. Used as a greeting or to begin a phone conversation in English-speaking countries. It is rarely, if ever, said or heard on the Camino. “Buen Camino” is the universal hello, farewell, have-a-nice-day, take care, nice-to-meet-you greeting used on the Camino. I watched the Martin Sheen movie, “The Way” maybe three months after completing the Camino in 2019. When I heard the characters say, “Buen Camino,” I gasped, choked up and almost cried. I remembered it can also be used as a blessing.
In Case of Emergency. Thankfully, we never had to call the 24/7 phone number provided by Camino Ways.
Jesus Calling. One or the other of us read the day’s message aloud before we walked. (It’s a daily devotion book that is written as if Jesus called and left you a voicemail.) I remember getting goosebumps many a morning because the message was perfect for that day’s anticipated adventure. For instance, on the day we walked into Santiago, He left us this message: When the path before you looks easy and straightforward, you may be tempted to go it alone instead of relying on Me. This is when you are in the greatest danger of stumbling. Ask My Spirit to help you as you go each step of the way. Never neglect this glorious Source of strength within you.
Kilometer. A metric unit of measurement equal to 1,000 meters. Everything is measured in Ks in Spain, not to mention the rest of the world. So stop thinking in miles. Long before we left, Donna and I switched our FitBits to Ks. We walked at least 10K a day, every day, to train for the Camino and averaged 20 to 25K a day on the Camino. That’s about 12-15 miles a day, for those of you ignored the third sentence.
Lodging. The Camino Ways people booked our reservations ahead of time, so we never had to wonder where we would lay our heads at night. We always had a room with a bathroom to ourselves, and twin beds. Our favorites were the small “gatehouses” which were family-owned and often in old stone buildings or farm houses.
Manana en la manana. In Spanish, it means “tomorrow morning.” On the Camino, it came to mean, “stay present in this moment, right here, right now.” Someone asked Donna how far we’d be walking the next day, and she replied, “Don’t know. However far it is, we’ll walk it tomorrow. ” Now that we’re home, when we find ourselves getting a little agitated about something—typically something outside our control—one or the other of us will say, “Manana en la manana.” Stay present.
Now and then we questioned our sanity. Who’s idea was this, anyway? Why in the world would anyone do this more than once? Specifically, these whines were muttered the day after O’Cebreiro.
O’Cebreiro. From the Latin meaning “oh, so steep, you think you are going to die.” It was a long day to begin with (31K), with the last 6K essentially being straight up a rocky, craggy forest “trail.” Elevation gain, 3000 feet in just 6K. From my blog post that day:
When we got to the very last hamlet before the top, a hamlet called Laguna, my brain was boiling and I was stumbling and dizzy and doing all I could not to burst into tears. Donna steered me into a cafe/bar and I sat down in a chair and began taking off my clothes. I was that hot and sweaty. I stopped at the base layer of a tank top and my pants. I fanned myself with the menu. I blew cool air into my tank top. I don’t know where I threw my hat, but my hair was dripping sweat and I distributed it with my fingers through my chemo curls thinking it will just perk them up. Donna bought a Kas Limon (like sparkling lemonade) and I downed it, along with a banana. I think I scared the hostess/bartender. She brought bread (which I couldn’t eat because of the whole gluten thing) topped with salami. I told her no thank you, I can’t in Spanish, and Donna commanded in English, “Eat the salami!”
I did. Eventually I calmed. Donna stopped staring at me with worried eyes. We walked into town shortly before dark. Exhausted.
Pilgrim’s meal. Three course meal offered as “el menu del dia” in restaurants, bars and lodging. You get a starter, main and dessert. Sometimes you get a choice in each category, sometimes not. Good thing I like chicken. We ate almost every dinner at our lodging, and our Pilgrim’s Meal included either a bottle of water or bottle of wine. We chose the latter. Duh.
Quiet. Did we ever run out of things to talk about? No. Although we did choose to be silent more often toward the end of our journey.
Rain in Spain fell mainly on whatever plain we happened to be hiking on. We always carried our rain jackets and pants with us in our day packs, and our hiking shoes were waterproof, so we were never caught by surprise. Well, except that time we decided to put on our jackets. Only our jackets. Not our rain pants. After all, it was kinda warm, and our Lululemon leggings were quick drying. Biggest mistake of the trip. The rain fell hard, soaked our pants, then trickled down our legs and into our boots. Waterproof on the outside, not on the inside. New rule: when you don the jacket, you drag on the rain pants. No matter what.
Stress. A state of mental or emotional strain or tension resulting from adverse or very demanding circumstances. Yes, there were days with adverse conditions. Almost every day required we walk a demanding distance. We handled the physical stress with “legs up the wall” yoga pose the minute we got to our room, Salon pas and perhaps ibuprofen on occasion. Otherwise, for me, the biggest surprise on the Camino was how little emotional stress there was. We had one thing and one thing only to do every day: Walk. OK, we also had to make sure we got our Compostela stamped at least twice. Easy peasy.
Teddy Roosevelt said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” [See “W” below.]
United. Joinedtogether for a common purpose, or by common feelings. It didn’t matter why you were walking the Camino, your age, gender, pronouns, political party, race or religion. It didn’t matter whether you had reservations or carried your life on your back. You sense the unity in your soul, your heart, your head and your gut. When we arrived in Santiago, there was an energy I’d never experienced, let alone shared with so many strangers before. It was elation and exhaustion and a bit of unexplained somberness all rolled into laughing, crying, hugging and happy dancing. Donna and I both voiced the opinion that perhaps world leaders should all walk the Camino.
Vaseline saved our feet from blisters. We slathered it on every morning and then put on our dual layer Wright socks. (That’s the brand, aptly named!) The theory is that the two layers of the sock rub against each other, instead of rubbing your skin raw. Worked perfectly, except for that soggy day of slogging into Sahagun. [See “R” above.]
Walk your own Camino. That’s not a recommendation to book your own trip. It’s my revelation from the trip I took. “Walk your own Camino” means stop comparing yourself, Terri.
So what if Donna is older than you, doesn’t play tennis or do High Intensity Interval Training and seems to be casually strolling up the Oh-So-Steep cascade of rocks, pointing out flora, fauna and a stupid white horse in a pasture while you can barely breathe, let alone speak, turn your head or do anything other put one foot in front of the other? Walk your own Camino!
So what if throngs of people start their Camino in Sarria and walk “only” the last 100K? Of course they’re energized, perky and can pass you in no time wearing 40-pound backpacks. You’re having your luggage shuttled each day, remember? Walk your own Camino!
Her hiking boots are, indeed, very cute. Size 7, maybe? You’re the only one who thinks yours look like clown shoes. Walk your own camino!
Why? Because “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Thank you, Teddy Roosevelt.
X is the symbol for the unknown in algebra. Donna and I learned to look for and leave room for some of it every day. The unknown. Not algebra.
Yes, I want to do it again.
In fact I leave August 12, 2022. This time, the whole 500 miles (800K) from St. Jean Pie de Port, France, to Santiago de Compostela. With Donna, of course.
Zenith. The time at which something is most powerful or successful. For me, our arrival in Cathedral square. Which is where Ken and Rose from Canada—a couple we met night No. 1 and encountered off and on along the way—stayed an extra day in Santiago just to greet us when Donna and I walked in. We burst into tears because we thought we’d never see any of the friends we’d made along the way again. Joy, praise, laughs and love made the journey a powerful success.
That’s me. Terri Langhans. You may know Terri Langhans the professional speaker, writer, avid tennis player, average golfer. Or perhaps you knew me by my maiden name: Terri Stoner. Stop laughing. I am all those Terris. And more.
At the turn of the century, after a career in public relations, marketing, advertising and branding, I started yet another business as a professional speaker. First challenge was what to name the business. Anything with “Langhans” in the name would be too difficult to remember or pronounce. (Hint: It rhymes with “bang pans.”) And my maiden name is Stoner, so ‘nuf said there.
My presentations were all about helping people make their message stand out, get results and not be boring or blah. Hence the birth of BlahBlahBlah.us and an email address that earned me the nickname of The Blah Blah Blah Lady.
I retired from speaking about six months before Covid made headlines and changed the speaking world forever. I still own the BlahBlahBlah.us url, though, and I still have a lot of anything-but-blah things to say. I mean write. Here in my Blahg. (See what it did there!)
Travels with Terri?
Yes, right now the Blahg is mostly about my three trips to Spain to walk various routes and portions of the Camino de Santiago. But I’ve made space to share other stories, thoughts and musings, too.
So stay tuned. Or better yet, subscribe back there on the Home page.
In May of 2017, my friend Donna Halker and I walked about 180 miles of the Camino de Santiago Portuguese Coastal Route. We had planned on walking the Camino Francigena from Luca to Rome, Italy, in 2018, but my breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo and reconstruction surgeries got in the way. As in no way.
CaminoWays.com was understanding and generous. They applied our deposit to a 2019 trip, which we decided would be the “real” Camino, aka The French Way. Except for the Pyrenees. We’re going to skip that part and start our 300-mile trek across Northern Spain in Burgos, aka the beginning of the Meseta. I know. A lot of people hate the Meseta for a boatload of reasons that include it’s hot, boring and flat. I’ve heard that some Pilgrims actually bike the section between Burgos and Leon.
Nope. Not Donna and I. Meseta means plateau in Spanish, and we think that’s a peachy way to kick off 22 days of walking. We’ll each be carrying a daypack that weighs about 10 pounds or so, or at least they did in “rehearsal.” Daypack is the operative word in the preceding sentence. Camino Ways has made arrangements to move a suitcase from lodging to lodging. They also have made room reservations for us each and every night.
We landed in Madrid Saturday night, dropped our luggage off at the hotel and started walking through City Centre. We were on a mission for tapas and sangria.
San Miguel Market is the place to be on Saturday night. Iberian ham, seafood, sangria, cervezas, chocolate, fresh fruit and pimientos Padron (aka shishito peppers) are just the beginning.
The San Miguel Market, located behind Plaza Mayor, was the perfect spot. Something for everyone, including Padron peppers, which Donna and I discovered in Galicia on our previous Camino via the Portuguese coastal route.
Yummy, yummy, happy tummy with sangria and padron peppers. Mission accomplished.
One full day is not enough
Sunday morning we wanted to cover as much of the city as possible, given we only had this one full day to do so. (We leave Monday, Sept. 9 for Burgos at 8 a.m. via train.)
We were ahead of schedule. Alarm at 6 a.m. Check. Throw on the clothes we laid out the night before, call the bellman to bring down the luggage. Check. He arrived at 6:30 a.m. and asked if we needed a taxi. Yes, please.
We checked out 6:40 a.m. and were in the cab with time to spare for the 8 a.m. train departing Madrid’s Chamartin station.
At 7:10 a.m. we hop out of the cab, open the hatch, and I gasp. “Donde esta nuestra equipaje?” [Where is our luggage?]
“What luggage?” he said in Spanish. “Soloa mano.” [Only by hand, referring to our large purses.]
I managed to explain in Spanish that we needed to return to the hotel for our luggage, and did he think we would still have time to return and catch the 8 a.m. train. This was not the context in which I wanted to practice my Spanish, but I was grateful for every Pimsler lesson I listened to at that moment.
Starting our Camino on my birthday, Sept. 10, 2019 was special, but purely accidental. When Donna and I planned the trip we looked at our calendars and worked backwards more than forwards. I remember saying at one point, “Oh, cool. Our first day of walking will be my birthday.” ‘Nuf said about that.
And then, this morning, we made our way to the breakfast buffet at our hotel in Burgos, gathered our favorite source of caffeine and food stuffs, then sat down at a table in the hotel’s dining room.
Plop.
Donna puts a stack of envelopes and folded papers next to my plate. Birthday cards. I gulp, choke and almost sob an itty bit. This took advance planning and a decent amount of schlepping on Donna’s part.
Cards, artwork and best wishes from my family far across the sea made the start of my Camino—and birthday—the best ever.
You see, my mother spoiled me when it comes to birthdays. From as early as I can remember, the first words I would hear on my birthday were from her lips, “Happy Birthday!” She might have been waking me for school (in fourth grade my birthday was actually on the first day of school) or I could have been walking into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea on my way out the door to Cal State Long Beach.
This year, my 64th trip around the sun, this birthday is an exciting way to begin a new adventure in oh, so many ways.
We Begin
Each day, or at least each day last time on the Portuguese Camino, Donna and I would take a morning selfie. Today, we handed the camera to the receptionist at the hotel.
Ready to walk out the door, ready for projected rain, and yes, we bought the same raincoats.
Yesterday we found the Camino markers in the road outside our hotel and decided to take before and first day photos.
I made a decision today, Sept. 12, 2019, aka Day 3 on the Camino. It was our longest day so far (big deal, we’ve been walking three days): 25km [15 miles]. We didn’t get to our lodging until 5:30 p.m. and I was frustrated because I had looked forward to having some down time between shower and dinner to write. Specifically, to write this blog. I was already a day behind, and I really wanted to post every day.
Wait just a dang minute. Sounds like stress to me. Felt like stress to me. Layer that on top of aching limbs, flaming feet, a drippy, sweaty face and still several miles to go before I’d see a rooftop, let alone the reception desk of our lodging—that’s when I made my decision.
Our walking notes warned us that this 20K section would be a straight shot along a highway, through vast fields of cut hay and dying sunflowers. Actually, the notes only mentioned the distance, the highway and “crops.” We would pass through three tiny villages called Campos de [Spanish word], and that would pretty much be the only break from crops and crops and highway.
OK, now we know why some people choose to bike or even skip the Meseta. I’m glad we didn’t, but it is, indeed, a long, hot stretch of nothing but crops, dust and flies. I am a big believer in the notion that you find what you’re looking for, so Donna and I made a point of looking for things that we could be grateful for.
We got an early (for us) start hoping to arrive at our destination by 4 p.m. which was when rain was predicted to start there. It had rained during the night, so the predicted 8 a.m. bout didn’t materialize as we walked out the door of our hostel.
A hostel, by the way that proved you can’t judge a book by its cover. When we arrived there yesterday, we looked at each other and said, “Really?”
We leave Sahagún, passing the grand arch that was not the passageway through which we entered the city. Turns out that this city is the half-way point along the Camino Frances, IF you started in St. Jean Pie de Port. We did not start there. But the arch is pretty cool.Continue reading “Day 7: Sahagún to El Burgos Ranero”
We realized as we were close to walking into our last night before the big city of Leon that neither one of us had taken many pictures. It was pretty much the same as the last few days on the Meseta. Crops, tree lined path along the road (for which are always grateful—shade).
We were excited to be heading to Leon, which is the last big city on the Camino. We have a day off planned for Day 10, Sept. 19, so we were also looking forward to sleeping in and giving our feet and backs a rest.
This says it all. We did set an alarm, however. We wanted to be sure we didn’t miss breakfast, which was served until 10:30 a.m. I am proud to announce that Donna and I both woke naturally in time to make it down to breakfast.Continue reading “Day 10: A Day to Play in Leon”
The talk around the Peregrino table last night was who’s taking a taxi to the edge of Leon and who’s walking the whole way out of town. Walking through city streets is not our favorite thing to do, but Donna and I decided not to skip seeing the rest of the city.
Look what we would have missed if we took the taxi! Behind the Basilica we found this K marker. Our Camino from Burgos is 500K, so in the next day or so we should hit our half-way mark.Continue reading “Day 11: Leon to Mazarife (Sort Of)”
We walked right out the front door of Mercedes’ home, took a right past the clothes line and vegetable garden and intersected the Camino as it followed the train tracks.
When we left our hotel in Astorga it was 47 degrees Fahrenheit. No rain, but brisk. We knew we had a steady uphill walk from our walking notes, and for a while looked forward to generating some body heat.
Except for the wind. Blowing right in our faces the whole way. Uphill.
This is the “trip tick” we check every day to get an idea of how flat, up and down, mostly up or mostly down our walk will be. The walking notes said that today we would be making our way gradually [emphasis mine] up the foothills of the Leon Mountains. This picture makes it look like a stroll. It. Was. Not.Continue reading “Day 13: Astorga to Rabanal del Camino (Sunday, Sept. 22)”
Despite the cold, and the immediate sprinkles we encountered upon exiting our charming Posada lodging, we donned our rain gear with smiles.
Matching raincoats (that’s a story for another time) and matching buffs (from our Safari in February), we take our morning selfie. I was trying out a new system whereby I wore my hat under the hood of my raincoat so that I wouldn’t have to have monovision through the hood. It worked great. Just call me Sister Bertrille.Continue reading “Day 14: Rabanal to Acebo (Monday, Sept 23)”
True Confessions: Every now and then we stay in a real hotel. Typically in a bigger city, which Ponferrada is. This one is a Marriott property. Downside, no Pilgrim meal included, so we had to wander the town until dinner time. In Spain, that means 8 or 8:30 p.m.!
Today we head for the hills and valleys. The Bierzo Valley wine making district to be specific. Walking through a city is not our favorite thing, but Donna and I thoroughly enjoyed the vineyards. Until we “hit the wall” and were just ready to be done!
This was our longest, my hardest day EVER. We were leaving the wine country and heading up a river to the top of the world as we know it. The first 20K (12 or so miles) was mostly flat and followed the river. Gorgeous. The last 10K (6 miles) were essentially straight up rocky forest paths.
We arrived at the 20K town at 3 p.m. This is normally when we like to get to our final destination. Oh, no, not even close!
We have a system in place. The night before we read the weather and get our hiking clothes out and ready to throw on in the morning. We usually double check the forecast first thing in the morning to make sure we have enough layers on our bodies and then any extras that need to be packed in the most-likely-to-be-needed on the top of the backpack.
(The above is a lesson learned quickly when it starts to get cold, or misty, or you’re hungry and whatever it is you need is at the very bottom of the pack, which means you have unpack all the stuff at the top and set it most likely on dirt or rocks or ledges that have tiny, biting bugs that will decide to take up residence inside your pack and bite you later.)
The forecast for this day basically said cloudy, cold in the morning (no kidding—we were on top of the world in O’Cebriero— and then high 60s later.
When I say “cold in the morning” I mean the temp started with a 4. As in 47 degrees Fahrenheit. Hence our morning selfie was taken indoors whilst inside the lodging.
The End of the Camino as We Knew It Is the Beginning of the Camino for Thousands
Glory, hallelujah–we woke to warm, dry boots and no rain in the forecast with supporting physical and visual evidence out the window. As I mentioned, part of our routine every morning is to double check the online weather report. We also had what we came to call The Arm or Body Part Test.
To conduct The Arm or Body Part Test, one opens the window (Spain doesn’t believe in screens) or, if we are blessed with a balcony, one opens the door to the outside. Next, stick an arm or other body part out the opening and report to your roommate what you feel and observe. Optional information to share is what the tester herself has decided to wear based on the experience.
For instance, “I’m going to wear my Holy Long Sleeve and pack my Safari Shirt.”
SIG Alert on the Camino Between Sarria and Santiago
Donna and I stayed in a hotel in Sarria, and when we went down to breakfast, it was difficult to find a seat. We saw two banquet-style tables and thought it might be for family style seating, which we have enjoyed as a way of meeting new people.
Nope. They were tables reserved for three different large tour groups of Pilgrims and their guides.
Fine. Donna and I huddled in a corner at a table for two and made a game of guessing which of the people in the buffet lines were veterans who had 110K left to go on their Camino, and who were the people starting their Camino in Sarria with this as Day 1.
“Plebes,” I said, nodding my head in the direction of a dozen bright shiny Pilgrims around the coffee pots.
Donna almost shot her coffee out her nose upon hearing my nickname.
Based on the recommendation of a veteran sitting nearby (she was walking her second solo camino), we decided to hit the trail as soon as possible. She said most of the groups leave around 9 a.m., so we decoded to get a good head start.
We traded photo-taking services with another couple of Pilgrims. Yes, Donna and I are both wearing “Olivia” because it was chilly. Not pictured are the throngs of people coming up the hill to our left, your right.Continue reading “Day 20: Sarria to Portomarin (Sept. 29)”
Here’s how our mental math worked. Anything under 20K (12.5 miles) was a short day. A short day meant we might arrive by 3 pm, which meant more time for the hand washed laundry to dry. And writing time for me. And sangria for both of us.
Anything over 20K could be a long day. On long days (15-20 miles), we hoped to arrive by 5 p.m. We knew we would be more physically tired, so we learned not to anticipate doing much more than shower, change clothes and eat dinner. Anything else would be a gift of time. The real key to mental health on a long day was to avoid “horse-to-barn” mode. That is where you put your head down, don’t look around, don’t talk (unless it is to ask rhetorically, “how much farther?”) and your whole being is focused on one thing. Just. Get. There.
We left the rectory relatively early (again, early for us) knowing we had 28K (17 miles) to go, according to the walking notes. Our walking notes had always measured the distance from our lodging to the next destination. Or so we thought. Maybe it was from town/village/city limit sign to the next edge of town. Or maybe it was center of town to center of town. For three full weeks it was always close enough for Camino work.
We knew we were 6K away from Palas de Rei when stepped out the door. We assumed our 28K estimate was based on our lodging to our next lodging, or thereabouts in Arzua. In other words, the 28K included the 6K to get to Palas de Rei.
After that grueling, record-setting trek into Arzua, we looked forward to a “normal” day of about 20K. We were hyperaware that we were just one sleep away from Santiago, and I think that’s why our photos from the day were such a variety of scenery, terrain and people. We wanted to make sure we got a little bit of everything along the way.
One of our favorite pictures from our Portuguese Coastal Route Camino was taken by another pilgrim as we walked down the trail. We tried to re-create it on this next-to-last day, recruiting Alex and his mom “Hey, Hey” Mickie.
The host of the gatehouse drove us back to the place at which we had ended our walk the day before. It sports the best name of an alberque/bar for its location: Kilometer 15. (See the sign above Donna’s head.)
We left early, in low clouds and mist, just as the sun was peaking over the trees. Dew and moisture clung to the fields and foliage, as if each drop represented a Pilgrim’s excitement and anticipation of the day’s destination 15K away: Santiago de Compostela.
I first heard about the Camino de Santiago de Compostela from my friend Mark LeBlanc. He took about 30 days to walk the 500-mile trek across northern Spain in 2008, and I helped him write a book about the experience, Never Be the Same. My daughter Kelsey read the book, and in 2014, she walked the same 500-mile path known as The French Way in about a month. Mark walked it a second time that same year, missing Kelsey on the steps of the St. James Cathedral only by a few weeks.
On May 21, 2017, I will be walking the Camino with my friend Donna Halker. We’re taking the Portuguese coastal route, starting in Porto, Portugal ending in Santiago de Compostela, Spain, about 200 miles. We will miss seeing Mark complete his third Camino by two days. (He flies out June 3. We arrive June 5.) My husband and his friend Don McMillin will meet Donna and I on the steps, after having explored other parts of Spain on a Tauck guided tour. The next day all four of us fly to Budapest for a Tauck river cruise down the Danube, returning to the U.S. via Prague on June 19. Continue reading “Can we really call this a Camino?”
After three days of walking the Camino de Santiago Portuguese Coastal Route (32, 28 and 28K) I must default to letting pictures be worth more words than I have the energy to write. (Donna’s FitBit records flights of stairs and today we climbed 92 flights.)
It. Is. Hard.
It. Is. Demanding.
It. Is. Beautiful.
Our walking notes for today used the word “steep” way too many times. I thought I had mentally prepared, and, in fact, Donna and I both enjoyed the trek over two mountains, through villages, in forests, along a gorge and roaring river. Continue reading “Yes, it is a Camino! Days 1-3 Summary in Pictures”
We started Day 4 right on the coast in Viana de Costello, Portugal. Unlike the other mornings, our lodging was right on the Camino. That means you don’t spend X amount of time or–more importantly–mucho kilometers getting to the day’s starting point. Our walking notes start with 0 (zero) K, which today meant, right out the front door.
Within 20 minutes we were giddy. THUNDER. Then lightening. We’d been carrying our rain gear the last 3 days, and when we could see and hear the splats of the raindrops, we huddled next to a high stone wall and under some vines to don our rain gear.
Sooo much better than yesterday’s 92 degree steep accents and decent…on cobblestones.
In our matching Olivia Pope rain gear we, too, can laugh at the rain.
We hiked through neighborhoods cut into the mountain, narrow paths framed by high stone walls covered in moss, and dense wet forest. Because the cobblestones engage muscles I never knew I had, I found immense joy when even the shortest section of the path involved a semi-consistent surface. Like asphalt. Continue reading “Day 4 Camino Portuguese Coastal Route: Rain, Rain and Still a Great Day”
From a converted convent in Aguarda, Spain we walked along the coast for most of the day–cutting a long segment of 31 kilometers in half. Yes, it rained, but after what we are now calling Hell Day of 92 degrees, we welcome the rain and clouds over extreme heat and heights.
From our “balcony” at the convent hotel, we aired our shoes and socks. The scallop shell on my pack is the symbol that we are “peregrines” (pilgrims) on the way to Santiago. The silver chain you see was hand made by Donna as our version of a rosary to remind us to pray for friends and family along the way.
The coastal route is special because we get to be on rugged coastline, quaint hillside villages (cobblestones, ugh), and forest, usually in one day. We do have to spend time along the roads now and then–our least favorite environment. Loud, a bit more nerve racking and despite the smooth walking surface, it definitely changes the mood. Continue reading “Day 6: Easy Peasey 17K Camino de Santiago Portuguese Coastal Route”
When we booked our Camino we had the option of splitting up a long day into two segments. Day 6 and 7 were such days. Instead of walking from Aguarda to Baiona, we stopped in Oia. This means that our Day 7 to Baiona was a reasonable 13 miles instead of a very long 20+ mile day the day before.
Thank goodness we did. We followed the coast for some time, but then it was mountain crossing again, and I would have not liked to be doing those crossings at the end of a day instead of in the middle of one.
As we left the coast to cross a major highway, up into the hills, we noticed a lone young man hanging out by the crosswalk. He said Hello and then walked the rest of the way into Baiona with us.
His name is Ho, from China, and he was finishing his Master’s degree in Management at a University in Lisbon. He decided to come up to Porto and spend a week on the Camino before returning to China.
His English was excellent, and we had wonderful conversations about the U.S. and his world in China.
My favorite moment: As Donna and I were resting a bit before a steep climb, we took swigs of water from our respective Camelback water bladders inside our backpacks.
“Is that oxygen you’re taking!?” Ho asked, obviously worried.
We laughed and told him it was water. He must have thought we were little old ladies.
We arrived in Baiona before the pouring rain and said our farewells to Ho. He wanted to walk an hour more. We were too embarrassed to tell him that our hotel (not hostel) was off the route and waiting for us.
Here are some pix.
We start every day with a selfie of some kind to mark the beginning of a new day. On this day we met some locals who happily snapped our Sunday morning shot with a field of flowers and the sea as background.
Ho threw on some sneakers, his Dickies long pants, his University book bag as a backpack and headed out. He carried odds and ends in his baseball cap, and collect trash along the way.
Up, up, up we go after our gulp of water/oxygen.
Sometimes the yellow arrows come with emphasis.
Caballo on the Camino!
Hasta Luego Ho!
Hello hotel! And rain, in Spain, but not on the plain!
Thank you for your patience. I write this on Day 10, but will catch up when I can. I am already excited about writing more when I get home and can share more thoughts and insights.
I see that my last post was Day 7. Egad. A week has gone by? I’ve been posting on Facebook…snippets and photos that help me remember what happened when. Today is Day 14, Sunday, June 4.
Here comes the ramble.
Day 7 we walked into Baiona and wondered if we had made a mistake in designating our day off in the next city, Vigo. The blessing of Baiona was that the hotel had a jacuzzi, and gluten-free muffins in the morning.
Ready for the jacuzzi, which we had to reserve in advance.
The fort at Baiona was well guarded. We posed before donning our backpacks for the day.
What is it? We wondered and wondered. Almost every home in so many villages we passed had one. Eventually I asked a local woman, “Que es eso?” She rattled off something in Spanish, and I asked her to slow down. In Spanish, I asked, “Is to honor God?” “Ha! No!” She laughed. Turns out it’s for storing corn. As in a corn crib!
As we were walking to Vigo, we discovered that we had hit a major Camino milestone. In order to receive your Compostella, you must walk at least 100K and prove it by getting two stamps a day on your pilgrim’s passport along the way. At this point, we had already walked more than 100K, but it’s the last 100K that count!
Winner of the best scarecrow EVER.
Jules Verne, 20 Leagues Under the Sea, lived and wrote in Vigo.
Our Day Off Morning Selfie with Jules.
Vigo is a huge city. Reminded us of Paris, New York, but on the sea. We hiked and climbed (yes, on our day off) to the top of a park that gave us an amazing view of the islands off Vigo (and visible from Baiona) and up the river that empties into the bay.
Leaving Vigo, Day 10, we were also leaving the Coastal Route. We were headed to Redondella, inland, where intersect the main Portuguese Route to Santiago (Central route).
Our selfie on the way to Redondela. Graffiti saved by the Camino arrow.
Snack time in the forest, by a waterfall, in the shade. Perfect.
Wifi is fading, and photo loading is frustrating, so I will have to say adios for now.
Tomorrow morning, Monday, June 5, we will walk a short 12K into Santiago. There is anticipated joy, and a sadness at the same time. Each day has had its physical and mental challenges. Yet the simplicity of waking each morning know that the only thing on your To Do list is to walk–well, there is peace in that alone.
We left early (7:30 am for us) and arrived in the square around 10 a.m. Short walking day. High emotions.
We were happy. We were in awe of the energy. We were grateful and prayerful.
Here are some pix from our last day.
We left our lodging in Teo before the other pilgrims were up and moving. (Breakfast was supposed to be served at 8, but we asked for 7 am so that we get get going early.)
All four of us took the “easy” tour of exploring the coastline of a small bay via zodiac boat. I was able to use a few pointers from Jorge’s nature photography lecture. Namely, get eye level with the creature. To do so on this pic, I hung over the bow of the zodiac (safely, Mom, I promise!) and got this gem.
Jennifer leans over the side and catches this sea lion playing with a sand dollar. He shows us the silver dollar, then flips it on top of his head. Rinse and repeat!
After the zodiac ride Donna and I go snorkeling in the same area we explored from the boat. Sea lions love to “play” with snorkelers, too–not just sand dollars. I learn you can scream into a snorkel.
We visit the giant tortoises for which the archipelago is named on the island of Santa Cruz. Only four islands in the Galapagos are inhabited by humans, and Santa Cruz Island is home to about 20,000 people. The tortoises roam freely in a huge nature preserve in the highlands.
Our previous days have all been volcanic deserts and coastal wanderings. Today we zodiac to the pier and board a van with a naturalist head for the tropical (rainy) highlands. From the van, I start snapping pictures of road-side tortugas. (Spanish has one word for turtle, tortoise and terrapins, which is much easier to type.) I eventually delete all those blurry shots because we are able to walk among them later.
Don’t fret. He’s yawning. Tortugas don’t have ears. They can’t hear us approach no matter how loud we are. They feel us, however, if we stomp around. Our goal is to not make them retract into their shells.
The preserve loans us rain boots for the expedition.
Portrait mode is awesome!
Side eye from this Tortuga.
In other activities on other days, we encounter more Blue Footed Boobies, more zodiac rides and more fine dining.
Portrait mode again. Donna and a chocolate martini.
Martha and I cook our own pork sirloins on a hot, sizzling stone.
It is Day 4 as I write this, and truly, the best way I can think of posting an update is with photos and two stories that stand out just from yesterday’s expedition. One theme throughout is that this ship, our naturalists and crew are dedicated and passionate about preserving this treasured, unique place on earth.
When you see a close up photo of a creature, know that there is some zooming and cropping going on. But the amazing thing is that because the Galapagos have been so protected, the wildlife do not see humans as predators. We respect their space, of course, yet they don’t bother to move away. And young sea lions want to play with you! (But we back up and don’t engage.)
We travel to our ship via zodiacs from this pier. Fun fact: the currency of Ecuador is the American dollar. Makes math easy peasy.
The Silver Sea Origin is three years old and custom built specifically for use only in the Galapagos. It can host 100 guests max. We never dock or even drop anchor. If we are in one place for a while, thrusters are somehow programmed to gently keep us rotating. To and fro any landing site is via zodiac boats, and we are informed the night before whether it will be a wet or dry landing. (That way we know whether to pack hiking shoes in our backpacks or not.)
The Flop, reprised in our stateroom.
A lesson in perspective. Our first “activity” under sail is to circumnavigate Kicker Rock. We have nothing to do with the navigation. We just pose and observe how the view dramitically changes based on location and lighting.
Same rock, other side.
Before our trip, when we told people we are going to the Galapagos, the most common, practically Pavlovian, response is “Blue-footed boobies!” After a day or so on the ship, the guys eventually got tired of working “booby” and “boobies” into every conversation.
And here is my up close and personal pic of the Blue-Footed Booby. Fun fact: their feet don’t turn blue until they are at least five years old. And the better they are at catching fish, the bluer their feet become. During mating season, the females swipe right based on the intensity of that blue. (It means he’s a good provider!)
I’m not sure how the Blue-Footed Booby got so famous, because, look–there are Red-Footed Boobies, too. (With blue beaks.)
Smiling selfie to and fro in zodiac boat.
Love is in the air. Or in the case of these iguanas, love is on a rock. We learn that because the female (on the right) is not scampering away, she likes the “attention” of the male.
The sweetest love story ever told. Well, sweetest as far as birds go. Our Naturalist Savina had our group sighing and smiling over the mating ritual of the Magnificent Frigate shown below.
Mr. Magnificent has a red gullet that normally look like saggy, red turkey gullet. Today he is trying to attract a mate, so he puffs out his chest, fills the “balloon” with air, flaps his wings and hollers his clickety clacking mating call when he sees a female cruising the neighborhood overhead.
Miss Magnificent checks him out, circling lower and lower, and if interested, she’ll land on the nest. What is she looking for? Has he built a nice home for Me? Is it a make-shift flat or a home in which we can raise a family? When she lands to introduce herself, does he have an engagement ring? (Looks exactly like a twig to me, but she thinks it’s great.) Taking the twig is not yet a “Yes” to the proposal. Apparently there’s a correlation to the size of his puffed chest and other anatomy required to reproduce.
If she likes what she sees there, she accepts his proposal by–get this–resting her head against that puffed up red chest, and then pressing it flat to say Mr. Magnificent is MINE. (Only for one mating season, by the way.)
Sea lions love to pose. I know they’re just enjoying the sun, but really, this one is going for a cover story.
Then our guide volunteers to get a picture our small group “with” the sea lion. (BTW, there are no seals in Galapagos. Only sea lions.) She used one of our iPhones and took 39 photos, hoping to get the beautiful aqua blue wave behind Leo the Sea Lion. ONE, this one, caught it!
Sea lion pups abound this time of year, Spring in Galapagos. Our guide Savina is explaining that the mom will give birth on or near the costal rocks because after the birth, she can use the boulders and crevasses to assist with the “disposal” of the afterbirth. (Which is a feast for the seabirds.) As we turn the corner at the end of her story, she points out a flock of sea birds hovering above and diving around a sea lion “posing” on a rocky outcropping.
As if on cue, we discover it is a mama sea lion who has just given birth. The birds are, well, doing what sea birds do with the after birth. (I gracefully declined the offer to have that picture AirDropped so I could post it here. You’re welcome.) Mom is guarding and protecting her little newborn with barks and nips at the air. (The birds would not harm the baby, but mom has an opinion anyway.)
And here we are, below, on a zodiac that will take us to a deep water snorkel spot. The ship provides the wet suit, mask, snorkel, fins and a naturalist guide in the water. It’s a “deep water” snorkel only because we dive from the zodiac and won’t be able to stand on the coral or anywhere else. The visibility is awesome and the water temperature is “refreshing.”
Stay tuned, and I’ll post more when I can! I think the giant turtles are up soon on the agenda.
On the outskirts of Cusco is Saqsaywaman, an Inca fortress that is an amazing example of unique Inca architecture. Each stone fits perfectly together, and the tallest is almost 9 meters high! These huge stones were fabricated 10 miles or more away and then rolled on logs pulled and pushed by teams of men. Not slaves.
The Incas “rotated” their teams of workers every two years. Of course the most grueling and least favorite job was rock rolling. But it was not your forever lot in life. After two years, your job could be farming. We’re talking 1438!
Pronunciation guide: Sexy Woman. I’m not kidding. Even the local guides call it that. Aren’t you glad you read the fine print?This gives you perspective on how huge these stones are. Remember they had to be cut elsewhere, based on precise architectural drawings and then moved to this site. Look at the rows of “cubes” that formed the walls above foundation. No mortar. Later we learn about the joints carved for stability.
Imagine the stone on the right as a page in a book. When you “turn the page,” those grooves line up. But they are now like a tube. The Incas knew enough about earthquakes that they filled that area with melted bronze. Not because they didn’t have iron or steel yet. The wouldn’t have used it if they did. Bronze expands and contracts, making the walls less likely to fall. Again, 1400’s!
Great setting for photographing our Tauck tribe.
Cusco hotel is a former monastery behind the main square and cathedral. We will spend two nights here giving us a choice of how to spend our full day on Thursday, Oct. 10. John and I choose the half-day tour of “old Cusco,” and Donna and Martha choose the all-day tour of the highlands and their villages. (Donna is my guest blog photographer further down.)
This is my “blog spot” in the hotel and where I spent the second half of my day after the morning tour. And my signature drink: te negro frio. (Black iced tea.)
Fun (?) fact about that tree in the courtyard: It’s the oldest, lone cedar tree in Cusco. The Spanish cut down cedar forests to build altars and the choir loft inside the cathedral during the colonial period. Young cedars have been planted, but nothing close to the grandeur of this one.
Stay with me. The colonized Incas make their mark in a way that lives forever.
Cusco School of Painting. The influence of the Spanish brought about a new style of art, one that combined Inca traditional elements with European imagery and techniques. Imagery was the most successful tool used by the Spaniards in their quest to Christianize the Andean population. By teaching locals to paint Christian subjects, they were able to infuse Christianity into Andean traditions. The Inca artists copied existing works of religious art for the Cathedral, and they frequently inserted subtle and not-so-subtle elements from their Inca religion.
We are not allowed to take photos inside the cathedral, so I take notes on the most memorable example of this “hybrid” form of painting.
Behold, Marco Zapata’s interpretation of “The Last Supper.”
Yes, that’s a guinea pig with legs akimbo in the center of the table. But, wait, there’s more.
Notice that the Disciples are all looking at Jesus or toward heaven. Except for Judas, the figure in the lower right who seems to be peering at us. Sorta makes sense in that he betrays Jesus and looks shifty. Da Vinci’s depiction of Judas is not even close to Zapata’s.
Zapata inserted the face of Francisco Pizarro, known as the Spanish conqueror of the Inca Empire and founder of Lima as the face of Judas the traitor.
Our guide tells us that it took decades for any Colonials to notice it.
And now, photos from the Highlands Tour, brought to you by my Guest Blogger Donna Halker and her assistant, Martha Ross.
Families welcomed us to their homes, taught us how to make a stone-ground sauce that we enjoyed at lunch. The baby llama is a pet!
Martha models a handcrafted, soft, cuddly hat made of alpaca. (No alpacas were harmed in the process. They are sheared every two years.)
The next day is all-day travel to Guayaquil, Ecuador. We fly from Cusco to Lima and then transfer to the International Terminal to fly to Guayaquil, Ecuador. (I learn that there are no direct flights to the Galapagos; you must stay in Quito or Guayaquil before flying to the islands.
Guayaquil hotel is palatial. We leave Cusco at 6 am and arrive at our Ecuadorian lodging at 5 pm. Our room is crazy big. Below, John demonstrates The Flop, a non-yoga move invented by my granddaughter Bailey when she and I travelled by various sundry transportation vehicles to the Youth Leadership Conference at my National Speaker’s Association annual convention.
Photo credit: Donna Halker, with a nod to the rule of thirds.
Popcorn for breakfast!
Chocolate mousse ala Ecuador for after dinner dessert.
This is the day that all 29 of my new traveling Tauck friends are waiting for. Machu Picchu. I know from the get-go that we are not going to walk the 26-mile Inca Trail, which is how my daughter and son-in-law did it. (Day 2 is alleged to be the worst, where you’re hiking up and down to 12,000 feet.)
We are taking the train. And I am quietly disappointed that we have to make a stop first, at some ancient Inca ruins in a city called Ollantaytambo (oy-yahn-tie-tahm-bo). It’s a massive Inca fortress with large stone terraces on a hillside.
Shame on me. Turns out it is oldest still-inhabited Inca city, and we learn so much about how and why and where the Incas built their cities. The perfect primer for appreciating Machu Picchu later in the day.
See that line down the middle of the street? It’s an irrigation channel still flowing from the original Inca aqueduct.
And of course, we walk through the main Square where there is plenty of shopping to be had. Try as I might, I can’t convince Donna to buy this hat.
And here we are posing before the steep steps and terraced “layers.” Our group is going climb to the fifth terrace and reconnoiter to learn more from our local guide. (Not to mention gulp water, pant, gasp and wait for our hearts to stop pounding out of our chests like a Looney Toon cartoon character.)
Did I mention steep?
How embarrassed am I to learn that Ollantaytambo is the most popular train station to embark on the Machu Picchu journey?
Very.
In fact, most porters that accompany the hikers live here. Mile marker 82 is the stop for the hikers. We are taking the train “all the way.” At least as far as the public bus station at the end of the line. Then we board a bus and wind our way to the entry point.
Spoiled rotten. We disembark the public bus at the entry gate to Machu Picchu. Entry to the park is limited and by appointment only, and our entry window is between 2 and 3 pm. We have 45 minutes to kill, so we check in to our rooms at, yes, The Sanctuary Lodge.
And then we are there. We hike a short while on switch backs, including a small section of the Inca trail, and after a steep climb up steps, we arrive at a terrace.
And there she is. Machu Picchu. Old Mountain in the Incan language of Quechua.
Those red lanyards and “badges” around our neck identify us as authorized to be on Circuit 2, which is the upper area of the Park. We are able to go lower, and we do, but the sun is setting and to go any lower requires a new reservation and appointment.
Llamas roam freely. In that we are there as dusk approaches, the llamas are ready to gather for the night. We are exploring the “residential” area when a herd of about 20 llamas drop in for Happy Hour.
See that anachronistic greenish blue contraption in the photo above? That’s where the llamas all nestle together for the night. Around it. Not in it.
That night, the conversations are filled with awe and wonder. Egad. That sounds so trite. But we all experienced something unique, and we shared it freely with people we’ve only known for a few days.
In a very different way, but yet still the same, I am reminded how Donna and I felt connected to the throngs of people who had completed the Camino de Santiago in Spain. It doesn’t matter who you are, how far you walked or where you started–you shared something deep inside that connects you no matter what.
That being said…the return train ride the next day is quiet. Until La Banda sets the tone in the “observation car.” What a way to celebrate an amazing accomplishment, no matter how you define it.
Turn up your volume.
If Machu Picchu has been at all on your radar screen or bucket list, we say, as we often do these days…
Lima to Cusco flight. We must have our bags packed and outside our hotel room at o’dark 4 am on Sunday, Oct. 6. The bus to the airport leaves at 5 o’yawn. Yes, there’s breakfast available, but, really, regardless of time zone, who needs to eat at 4 am?
We do, apparently. See food? Eat some.
Tauck took care of everything by way of delivering our luggage to a safe area for us to claim once we arrive at the wee hour of 6 am. We are handed our boarding passes by Zack the Tour Guide, and the bags are already tagged. We just hand them over with our passports and “poof” we go through security.
And wait. And wait. And change gates, but only once. Truly–I had imagined so much worse.
Arrive Cusco and get outa there pronto! Why? We left sea level at the crack of dawn and are now suddenly at 11,150 feet. Zack says we are going down to about 9,400 feet to the Tambo de Inca Resort and Spa located about midway down the Sacred Valley. If he told us once, he told us mucho veces:
Go slow. Your body has less oxygen and that means it has to work extra hard just to fuel your circulation.
Digestion slows down at high altitudes, so remember, “I know it’s Tauck, but you don’t have to eat all the food we put in front of you.”
Drink water, drink water, drink water.
And look what Tauck gave us to help with the latter!
Head for the hills and then Sacred Valley. We board our deluxe vans (Donna, John and I are still Llamas) and drive over the Andes peaks that surround Cusco. “Stretch your legs” break at the east end of the Sacred Valley. Sneak preview of where we’ll descending and staying the night. (Machu Picchu is at the west end of the Sacred Valley.)
From the patio of our “rest stop” (aka Bathroom Break).
John, Terri and Zack our Tauck Guide. Zack also guides Zion, Brice and Yellowstone Tauck tours.
Weather was nice enough for John to remove his pullover. Trust me, that doesn’t happen very often!
The Hand. No one wanted to walk to the palm for a photo op. Heck there’s a net under there.
We arrive at Hacienda Huayoccari for lunch at a private estate, surrounded by the family’s crops and stables of Peruvian Paso horses.
More causa, (this was even better than the other one), local greens, tomato and creamiest avocado ever. Yes, that’s a Pisco Sour in the upper left corner.
Terri in front of terraces.The hacienda includes a beautiful setting for weddings overlooking the valley.
Peruvian Paso Horses. We learn that the Paso horse has a unique inherited four lateral gait (style of walking), which is the breed’s trademark. Translation? They don’t gallop, and that makes the Peruvian horse one of the most skilled and smoothest riding horses in the world.
And they can dance in time to music! Watch:
Tambo del Inka Resort and Spa has the best welcoming committee EVER. Baby alpacas. Donna and I dropped our purse/backpacks in our rooms and bolted back to the entrance lawn.
Next day will be Machu Picchu. Sort of. Eventually.
We start our day on “The Big Bus” and head for the historical city center and Capitol. We will divide into two groups of 15 and 14 when we get there. Llamas and Alpacas. We are Llamas. Later we will ride in two different short buses because the streets are so narrow.
Fun facts about Lima and Peru. Richard, our local guide, regales us with a wealth of information:
Peru has 90 micro-climates with the coast, highlands, jungle and rainforest being the major climate zones.
Peru “domesticated” 3,500 varieties of potato! They are the world’s biggest exporter of asparagus and quinoa.
The biggest war in South America was over bird poop. It was between Bolivia, Chile and Peru over the Chincha Islands off the coast. Apparently that’s where large sea birds did their business in the 19th century. Guano deposits were 30 meters thick in some places. Guano was used in the production of fertilizers and explosives, which made it a profitable commodity. I can’t remember the details of the outcome because I am still trying not imagine 30 meters of bird poop.
Balconies. I’m picturing the Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo kind. Not in 16th and 17th century Peru. The “modernized ” one on the gold building has glass windows. Big issue for the aristocratic husbands and fathers of yesteryear. It’s one thing for the wife and daughters to look out the window. Quite another for them to be seen from the street.
The balcony on the green building is preserved from the early 1600s. (Spain conquered Peru in 1532.) Ladies can look out, and not be seen from below.
Oldest home in Lima. Built in 1535 it is the oldest colonial house of Lima. It is still occupied by the descendants of the founders, Aliaga family, who were beside Pizarro during the conquest of Peru. Lovely to tour.
A shame that my favorite picture is this one. My first thought is wow, what a beautiful courtyard. My second? This is why our HOA in the desert doesn’t allow ficus!
Lunch at a private “summer home” in Mirafloras. When you travel with Tauck, they find amazing venues to entertain you, including this private home, Alvarado Garcia Alvarado house. The granddaughter, Anna Marie, is our hostess and we dined in her courtyard with musical accompaniment.
Introducing the iconic drink of Peru: the Pisco Sour. Pisco is along the lines of a brandy, 43% alcohol, shaken vigorously with Pisco, lemon, simple syrup and egg white. This one, here is delicious. Think: margarita-like. (It’s the beverage directly under our waiter’s buttons.)
Causa. My daughter and son-in-law told us to definitely eat two things–causa and ceviche. Causa is a layered dish with potato, sometimes tuna, avocado and more potato. Who knows which of the 3,500 varieties of potatoes this one is, but it is delicious.
Ceviche. I am skeptical when my daughter tells me that the ceviche is unlike any in the US, and, in fact, it took them a long time before they ever order it State Side. Really? What’s to modify beyond lime, fish and maybe some minced peppers or onions?
Answer: everything. OMG. Unbelievably tender, flavorful, not too “limey” or strong. We all moan in unison at the first bite. Those large pieces are the ceviche. Note the size of the corn grown in Peru as well.
Spoiler alert. I write this three days after leaving Lima. Just so you know, we made it to Machu Picchu and I will post oh, so much more later.
Uneventful. That’s how we like our travel to the airport and flying to our destination. And that’s what we got. The most exciting part was Mr. Rocking Red Shoes on the flight from LAX to Houston.
Airplane lighting doesn’t do justice to the spiffy, sparkly bling on his Bose headphones. Zoom in for better effect. Mr. Rocking Red Shoe Guy played the air guitar–and I mean really really played the imaginary left hand chords–as well as air piano and drums. The. Whole. Time.
The usual suspects. John and I are traveling with Donna on a Tauck tour that will takes us from Lima, Peru to Cusco to Machu Picchu, back to Cusco and then to Ecuador and a 7-day small ship cruise of the Galapagos Islands.
Donna and I start our travel the way we always do. Sparkling!
Luxury in Lima. We arrive at our hotel around 10 pm Friday night. Check in. A little more sparkling and posing out front before bedtime.
Saturday we explore the area. Lima is the Capital of Peru, on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. We learn that the sprawling city is made up of 43 districts (think: municipalities) each with their own Mayor, police and “city hall.” We are in San Isidro in south Lima, and walk to Miraflores to check out the cliffs above the beach.
Areunion with Martha! When Donna and I finished our first Camino de Santiago (Portuguese Coastal Route ~200 miles starting in Porto), John and our friend Don met us in Santiago and then we four flew to Budapest for our first Tauck tour. A river cruise to Prague on the Danube. And that’s where we met Martha, who lives in Santa Monica. We’ve remained friends visiting each other up and down Pacific Coast Highway for seven years.
And now we get to travel together again! Here we are along the coastal trail above the sea.
John forgot to pack a baseball hat, but look at the dapper substitute he bought at the Mercado!
Sunday (mañana) Zach, our Tauck guide, will lead our group to the Main Square, local ruins, Barranco district and then the Larco Herrera Museum and a private dinner at Cafe del Museo.
Donna and I start many conversations this way now.
When I learned that “Rain” was the theme for TheMoth.org’s Los Angeles open mike StorySLAM event, Donna and I bought tickets. Once there, I put my name in the hat and was one of 10 lucky storytellers selected to go on stage and tell a 5 minute story (plus a 1 minute grace period) based on that theme.
The Moth stories must be true, told live, without notes. Three teams of three audience members judge the storyteller’s telling of the tale, based on the teller’s sticking to the five-minute time frame, sticking to the theme and having a story that has a conflict and a resolution. Winners of StorySLAMs advance to a GrandSLAM event, with a different theme and more time to tell their stories. I came in second by a fraction of a percentage point.
No big deal. Not why I was there.
You know from reading my blahg how much I like to write about the Camino de Santiago. The Moth gave me a chance to talk about it. From behind a microphone! (Deja vous all over again from my years of professional speaking.)
I’d forgotten how rewarding it is to make people laugh. Not to mention make Donna choke up just a tad at the memory.
Click the image of The Moth logo to watch the 6 minute video.
Buen Camino!
P.S. If you love listening to or telling stories, I recommend The Moth Radio Hour Podcast, available wherever you listen to podcasts.
Marcia is sitting across the card table from me as we play canasta last Fall. She mentions ever so off-handedly that she read a great “feel good” book over the summer.
“It’s called The Guncle. It’s funny and takes place here in Palm Springs.”
“The WHAT?” I ask, as I organize my cards.
“The Guncle. Stands for Gay Uncle. Or GUP—Gay Uncle Patrick. He ends up taking care of his young niece and nephew while their dad is in rehab in Rancho Mirage. Really funny and sweet,” she says as she discards a four of spades into the plastic tray.
Always looking for a good book to listen to, especially one both husband John and I can listen to together on road trips, I buy the Audible version of The Guncle. We listen to it on our drive to and from Colorado for Christmas.
Fast forward to February.
I suggest The Guncle to the two PGA West book clubs I belong to and volunteer to host at my house. So long as we do a first-ever combined meeting of the book reading minds, I add. Which gets me thinking. . .the author, Steven Rowley, lives in Palm Springs. Wouldn’t it be great if I could get him to come speak to us?
Squeals of “Oh yes!” from the Popcorn Book Club ladies make me realize I had said it aloud. I have one month to make it happen.
Or maybe not.
I visit his website, StevenRowley.com and see that all the contact information is via publicists. Three different publicists, one for each of his three novels. I learn movie rights are sold for each of them.
“Dang. This guy is big time,” I mutter to my husband and then tell him all I’ve learned.
“Good luck. You’ll never get him to come a little book club meeting,” John says.
I raise my eyes above my laptop screen, give him The Glare, and then do my best Barney Stinson imitation and shout, “Challenge accepted!” (Google it, if you didn’t watch Neil Patrick Harris in How I Met Your Mother.)
Patrick, aka GUP in the book, doesn’t do his own “sosh,” aka social media. Maybe Steven Rowley does?
LinkedIn lists 10 Steven Rowleys. None are authors. On Facebook I find the author Rowley (and a bus driver Rowley). I scroll and scroll the author’s page and agree with the eleventy-million fans who are commenting on his books. But I don’t want to approach him through a fan page.
Instagram for the win.
I scroll and scroll Insta (that’s what the cool kids call it, ya’ know). I discover a photo of Steven with ladies from the Carlsbad Book Club. Hope springs eternal.
Instagram? Hmmm. I think I have an account. Egad. Ancient history.
I better post a few pictures from this decade. Two cute pictures of Rusty, my labradoodle, because Steven is a dog lover, too. And one of the view from brunch at Ernie’s Bar and Grill, because “Brunch is awesome.” (Guncle Rule #1.)
I’m ready. I post a comment to his post about The Best Bookstore in Palm Springs. (That’s its real name.) I tell him that The Guncle is a fan favorite in PGA West and that it’s the March selection for two, count ‘em, TWO, book clubs here.
“I’m honored,” he replies a few days later.
“He replied! He replied!” I holler as I happy-dance around our island kitchen counter, taunting my husband. “He replied!”
“Is he coming to book club?” John asks skeptically.
“I haven’t asked yet. I only posted a comment. And he REPLIED!”
I not-so-calmly wait until the next morning to craft the official “ask” and share my email address via Insta. (Instagram, remember?) He replies again!
Holy cow, this might just happen. I’m trying not to hyperventilate.
I provide details of date, time, location, and format. Format being the Popcorn Book Club model in which the hostess (me) provides wine, water and popcorn. Period. After all, I add to my message, some of us consider popcorn a meal.
“I have you on my calendar,” he confirms, signing it “Team Popcorn Is a Meal.”
The RSVPs start pouring in.
On the day of the event, I haul every piece of moveable furniture I own into the living/dining room area, saving the best upholstered “throne-like” chair for Steven. Yes, I tell a couple of ladies, bring a few folding chairs, just in case more than 22 people show up.
And show up they do. Good thing I created a make-shift reserved parking sign so that Steven wouldn’t have to walk too far.
Despite being a Doubting John as to whether I could persuade Steven to come, I allow my husband to attend book club–as bartender. Which means asking what color of wine a woman wants and then pouring it. (Meetings sans authors are pretty much DIY when it comes to beverage pouring.)
As the ladies are scooping popcorn into their red and white striped boxes and claiming their seats, I am focused on the front door. I peek past the crowd, through the courtyard gate. Every 17 seconds or so. Why am I so nervous?
I confide to a few gals that my hands are shaking. Me, the Blah Blah Blah lady who hasn’t met a microphone she doesn’t love to use. This feels more like I’m an excited teenager waiting for my prom date to arrive.
Arrive Steven does. To fanfare, applause and caftans.
Now for the best part.
To get the dialogue started, I ask the “audience” to share a memorable moment from the book. Something that sticks with them, perhaps long after having read the book. A laugh, a tear, a gasp. One by one we share snippets of scenes or dialogue. (Don’t worry, no spoilers here.)
And Steven punctuates the conversation first with thanks, and then with some “behind the curtain” comments as to how and why he crafted something a certain way. His thank you is not about accepting the adulation of his readers. Well, a little bit, maybe. He also shared that it means a lot to a writer to hear what sticks.
“Being a writer is actually quite solitary work. With stand-up comedy, you know immediately when a joke lands. With a book, I can crack myself up writing a scene, but how do I know if anyone else thinks it’s funny? he says.
I ask about Grant, Patrick’s 5-year-old nephew.
“Why did you give him a lisp?” I think I know the answer—because it’s endearing, adds to the little guy’s vulnerability and sets up some humor, too. I’m right on all accounts.
But wait, there’s more “behind the curtain” to it than that.
“I knew there’d be a lot of dialogue, and I wanted a way to distinguish the kids without having to keep writing ‘he said, she said,’ over and over,” Steven explained.
Brilliant! I had not thought of that.
The bartender asks how much of the story is based on Steven’s own life experiences and family.
Steven volunteers that yes, he has nieces and nephews. Yes, he has a sister, but she’s not as mean as Clara, the sister in the book. Yes, he lost a very dear college friend to breast cancer. (Again, not a spoiler.)
“What about Patrick, the Guncle himself?” a caftaned fan asks. “How much of you, Steven, is there in Patrick?”
“Certainly some, but Patrick is richer, more famous and more handsome than me,” he teased.
Wrong on the latter, many ladies voice. And once the movie is made, wrong on the former as well.
“Someday, we’ll watch you on the red carpet and sigh, ‘We knew him when. . . .’” I predict.
The late afternoon flies by.
We hear more about the recording of the Audible version of The Guncle. Steven doesn’t just read the book, I say. He performs it, creating theater of the mind like no other, I gush, as Audible alumni ladies nod their agreement.
We know we can’t keep him much longer, so we assemble for a group photo with caftan-clad club members in the front row. Individual book signing and photos and farewells follow.
As Steven leaves, I hand him a box of popcorn for the road, hoping it truly isn’t his evening meal. When I see him drive away from the curb, and I know he can’t see me standing in the entry way, I close the door and turn my back to lean on it.
Challenge complete! And oh, so much better than going to prom.
If you’ve been keeping up with my blog posts as Donna and I walked the 500 miles of the Camino de Santiago, you may have noticed that my Mom, Patricia (Pat) Stoner, commented every time. She was often the first to do so!
Many of you have shared with me how much you enjoyed reading her comments.
Well, TODAY, Thursday, Sept. 29 is her 90th (yes, ninetieth) birthday.
She doesn’t do Facebook, and I would just love it if you could enter a comment here, wishing her, “Happy Birthday, Pat” today. I’ll make sure she sees them!
The Story I’ve Been Meaning to Tell
Here’s my mom a year ago at my daughter’s wedding.
The symbol of the Camino is the scallop shell. It is rare to see someone walking without a big one hanging outside the backpack. Donna and I bought ours Day 2 of our first Camino, the Portuguese Coastal Route in Spring of 2017. We carried them again on the 300 miles of the French Way from Burgos in 2019.
Donna framed hers and hung it on her living room wall, because, well, who’d have thought we’d be walking the Camino a third time? Let alone the whole 500 miles. She said she’s “unframing,” bringing it out of retirement one more time.
Last week we did a 12K walk (RT) from my house in Long Beach to Seal Beach to buy 40 shells each from the California Shell Shop on Main Street.
Here are my 40 shells.
And here’s the plan for them:
• The “theme” of our Camino is gratitude.
• On the inside of each shell, I will write the name of something or someone I am grateful for. So will Donna, independently, on her shells.
• Every morning we each pull a shell from our respective collections and carry that shell until we find a place to leave it. Sometimes there’s a connection. Like last time, when I left Laurie Guest’s shell in a corn field. (Read her bio, and you’ll get it.) Sometimes there’s no connection; it just looks like a nice place for a shell.
I also plan on leaving a few shells blank…for the Camino angel(s) I’m sure to meet along The Way.
And the yellow one in the middle? That one’s for me. I don’t know where I’ll leave it, but I’ll know it when I get there.
Stay tuned!
(Which is another way of saying, subscribe up there on the Home page. Whenever I post, you’ll get an email telling you I did.)
Donna and I say adios to LAX, Camino here we come! Yes, it was a Spanish sparkling wine.
We left LAX at 1:15 p.m. Friday, Aug. 12, arrived Paris at 9:30 a.m. and then connected to a flight to Biarritz. We got to Biarritz hotel around 4 p.m. Saturday and pinkie swore that we would not go to bed until dark.
Donna wants to get a picture of each “hotel” we stay in. The beds and the view from the window. These are at the Hotel Windsor in Biarritz. Our first night’s stay.
Donna’s “view from our window” in Biarritz.
Terri’s “view from the window” picture, taken from inside the hotel room instead of hanging precariously out the 6th floor window like Donna did.
Selfie looking back on the beach. Our hotel was one of the beige buildings on the left end of what is pictured in the middle.
We found a restaurant around the corner from our hotel that served an “early” dinner at 7:30 p.m. We were tucked in by 10 p.m. and slept until 8:30 a.m. Sunday.
We had time to kill until our 2 p.m. transfer by car to St. Jean Pied de Port, so we took off walking in the other direction from the day before, headed for the lighthouse.
The beach at Biarritz Sunday morning.
After staying up as late as we could Saturday night, we slept in Sunday and took about a 5K walk to the lighthouse at the north end of the beach. This is looking back from whence we walked.
The lighthouse in Biarritz, built in 1834. It’s 44 meters (~144 ft) high. The math is important. Read the post!
We could have walked to the top of the lighthouse, but a) it was an hour’s wait, and b) the next day we would be climbing 3,000 feet into (and over?) the Pyrenees. Or, for perspective, like climbing that lighthouse 20 times.
We had a cappuccino in a cafe and then waited for our ride to St. Jean. At 1:59 p.m. a driver hops out and yells, “Taxi!”
Right on time! Awesome. He hoists our two suitcases into the trunk, jumps back in and says cheerfully, “To the beach! Yes?”
Two big suitcases and we’re going to the beach, he’s making a joke. “Ha ha. St. Jean Pied de Port,” I corrected.
”The Port?” He clarified as he pulled away.
“NO, no, CaminoWays, St. John Pied de Port!”
”Airport?”
“No, we are going to St. Jean Pied de Port. To walk the Camino.”
”OK, St. Jean Pied de Port.” He enters something into his phone and Donna and I realize we have the wrong cab.
I said, “We already paid. CaminoWays paid. Wrong cab. Wrong cab. Go back.”
I don’t speak French, but I could tell that the words he spoke were probably not in the Duolingo curriculum.
As he made an illegal u-turn and double parked outside our hotel lobby, we saw a very confused looking couple talking to man with van. They were obviously packed for a day on the beach.
“Wrong cab, wrong cab!”
Our driver was sweet and friendly. Thankfully, he spoke Spanish, which seemed so familiar to me. It was a one-hour drive to St. Jean, and the scenery was stunning. Winding roads through tall mountains spotted with farms.
St. Jean Pied de Port
We’ll cross this river in the morning and the adventure begins! We walked around all afternoon hunting for the beginning of the Camino.
Found it! And then we reorganized every thing into what goes in our day packs (rain gear, first aid kit, Pilgrim’s Passport and 2 liters of water).
And we had two full-sized beds in this room on which to spread it all out.
We left St. Jean Pied de Port at 8:15 am. The red, white and green flags were strewn across the old town’s cobblestone streets to celebrate a Basque festival. We enjoyed marching bands during the day before and tried not to listen to the bands that played two-hour sets at 9 pm, midnight, and 2 a.m.
After
25K, nine hours and change later, we arrived at Roncevalles. The only place to stop for food or rest or beverage was at the 7K mark. We weren’t really hungry at that point but we split a “tortilla” to load some carbs.
(Tortilla in Spain is essentially potato and egg “quiche,” gluten free for yours truly.)
Our legs were wobbly and at the very end I said, “I feel like my legs are boiled spaghetti and I’m trying to control them with my brain alone. No tongs.”
In Between Time
The Camino through the Pyrenees is an uphill effort we’d never experienced before. Thankfully, the weather was perfect. We never had to put on rain gear, for one. And even when climbing above the tree line we enjoyed a light breeze. Sometimes we gave out-loud thanks for both shade and a breeze in the same stretch.
From whence we came is pictured above. Zoom in and you’ll see a road far below where I was standing to take this picture. Way down yonder is St. Jean terrain.
Bucolic is the word Donna and I used to describe the trek through and over the Pyrenees. At first we thought those beige things were rocks. Nope. Sheep.
Cattle roamed free and did not mind us at all. They wore huge cow bells, but we quickly learned that the free range herd of horses (not pictured on either of our cell phones) also wore bells. And so did the sheep.
This is the perfect setting. Shade. Flat-ish. Canopy of trees. Unfortunately, the same setting turned ugly when we took an “alternate route” that went straight downhill for almost 4K. No pictures to share because it was all we could do to not tumble down the trail.
At Last.
We had to wait in line to check in to our hotel room, and I was able to chat with the other travelers in Spanish. I asked questions of the receptionist in Spanish and translated the answers to English for Donna. Strangely comforting is the best I can describe the feeling or relief to be in Spain, where I have more words than in France.
We have a third floor room loft room at Hotel Roncevalles. Two full sized beds pushed together is luxurious to us.
View from one of the windows actually doubles as air conditioning. Thankfully it will be a cool, crisp night.
Before the projected rain pours down manana en la manana.
Having survived Day 1, we looked forward to Day 2 being shorter by 4K. The weather report said 88% chance of rain throughout the route, so we thought we were so smart to anticipate that it might still be a long day due rain.
Knowing we’d be donning rain gear a good portion of the day, we packed it at the top of our day packs, ready for prompt retrieval. We got an early start (for us, anyway) around 8 a.m. Before we got out of the hotel parking lot, quarter-sized rain drops splatted at our feet.
“What’s the rule?” We asked simultaneously. (See previous post called ABC’s of Camino under R for Rain.)
The Rule (learned the hard way): If it starts to rain, you put on rain pants AND your rain coat. And we did.
Yes, matching raincoats. (Pants not pictured, but trust me, they’re on.)
The walk out of town was through a beautiful forest, so we convinced ourselves that it must be a light rain, because the trees were blocking it from hitting us.
Donna in full rain gear, including backpack cover.
Fast forward about 5K and we realize that we must be taking one for the entire Camino team in the area because it still had not rained. Figures, we put on the rain gear and it doesn’t rain. We were too superstitious to take it off until after lunch, but by then the sun was shining.
Another forest with blessed shade. And a yellow arrow on the tree assuring us we were on the right pat.
We knew we had two mountain passes to climb that day, but we still had time to enjoy the scenery. And this time, get pictures of the horses.
What goes up must come down.
The uphill effort had our hearts beating hard, our lungs at full speed and capacity, as well as our leg muscles saying “hello again.”
It was the last 4K that killed us. Already tired and sore from the day before, we had to navigate a steep, rocky, craggy and often slippery trek down hill 1000 feet.
How anyone could complete that segment without poles is beyond me. We stopped talking. We stopped smiling. We were miserable, and it was all either of us could do except walk more like a four-legged creature than the humans we are.
Plant a pole, lean into it with your weight and then raise a foot and put it down oh, so carefully. Plant the opposite pole on your left side, put your weight into it, raise your other foot and carefully put it down.
Rinse and repeat umpteen times.
Going uphill is hard because you can hardly breathe and plod along slowly. Downhill is worse. Especially at the end of 7 hour day. Donna said it perfectly, “Everything below my butt hurts.”
We dragged our lower limbs into the town of Zubiri and had to spend a great deal of time in attitude adjustment. The shower helped. “Legs up the wall” was first. Then stretching as best we could.
Again, too tired and sore and exhausted to take a lot of pictures. But here’s the room for the night, and the view:
Day 3 was walking into Pamplona. Yes! THAT Pamplona ala the running of the bulls. We just missed them a month ago. Walking into a metropolis is not the most fun, so by the time we arrived at our lodging, we were a bit snarly ourselves.
A Pilgrim’s meal was not included that night, so we had to hunt and gather at nearby tapas bars. Poor us, right? More on that later, maybe.
Day 4 Out of Pamplona
We were excited for this day because it includes a climb up Alto del Perdon, the Hill of Forgiveness. At the top is a sculpture depicting a number of Pilgrims either on foot or on horseback as they make their way along the Camino to Santiago.
Look closely and you might see two people photo bombing everyone else’s picture.
Problem is, we took all sorts of amazing photos before and after the one above, but the WiFi at our lodging “down the mountain” in Puente de Reina has the
s l o w e s t
bandwidth EVER. The above is the only photo I could upload all night.
So, trust that we are safe, sound and strong at Day 4. We’ll get to the next post when we can.
The day started beautifully, from a little rural cottage in which we were the only Pilgrims. (Others were couples and families on vacation.)
Thankfully, the hostess said she would see that our luggage was taken down the stairs for the transport company to retrieve in the lobby.
In the charming city of Viana, we were treated to a walk down Calle Mayor (think Main Street in any Spanish town) right as 12:00 mass was letting out of the massive stone church.
Like salmon swimming upstream, we went into the church for a look around. The place emptied out pretty quickly, and I saw the priest exit through what looked like a private door to the left, let’s call it 9:00 on an old school clock. We were behind the altar (at 12:00 if you’re still with me), went past where he exited, and poof, the lights went out.
”I think we better head for the exit or we’re going to get locked in here!”
As we strolled to the exit, out comes the priest in his casual attire and says in Spanish, “I am happy you are here, but you are lucky that I am here, too.”
He had already locked the exits and escorted us to one he unlocked for us and wished us a Buen Camino.
The Calle Mayor was filled with people having lunch, beer, wine, bocadillos (snacks). Here’s what it looked like as a selfie from the end of the street.
Then, all we did was turn around and here’s a 900-year-old building behind us.
We then headed out of town.
And missed a turn.
We had walked at least 2K on a paved road through a vineyard (in the heat, sans shade) and were starting to be concerned. We hadn’t seen a single other Camino walker or biker in an hour. Finally a car approached us and I flagged him down.
I told him in Spanish that I thought we might be lost, and he said in Spanish, “Yes you are. This is not the official Camino.”
He (and his son in the backseat who spoke broken English) redirected us from whence we came.
As he pulled away, wishing us Buen Camino, I muttered to Donna, “I would have jumped in the backseat if offered.”
Donna said, “I would have stood on the back bumper and hung on for dear life.”
All in all, we added about 5K to the day and an extra 90 minutes in the heat. I ran out of water in my “camelback” with 4K left to walk through the city of Logrono, and there, like a little Camino miracle, appeared a water fountain in a park.
We arrived after 5 p.m., but we arrived. Here is the happy photo we took long before being almost locked in at the church and then a little bit lost after that.
We are doing about 22K a day and just finished the first one in full sun. Scenery is spectacular, with the vineyards starting to border our trail.
Friday night is in Estella, a picturesque, bustling town with OLD and new butting up against each other. Again, however, the WiFi is weak.
I don’t know how many pictures I can upload, so the caption will have to tell the story. And they are not in chronological order.
A natural arch of shade is something to celebrate!
See that town in the distance? Kind of like walking to the Emerald City. Except it’s not green. And the road is not yellow or brick. But other than that, the same.
Donna gets photo credit for the bridge crossing this morning out of Puente de Reina.Last night’s room at the inn.
Donna looking out the window with a view.
Legs Up the Wall pose from Pamplona. It’s the first thing we do when we get to the room after removing our hiking shoes. (Today, Friday, however, we were so sweaty and hot that the photo would have been sans pants. Or shirts.)
View from our window today, Friday, in Estella.
And this is the ultra modern room from which we look at the old church tower.
Hasta la vista amigos! Tomorrow will be another HOT day. Never underestimate the power of even a breath of a breeze. We are grateful, indeed.
Today, Saturday, Aug. 20 was Day 6 of walking, and we’ve covered more than 100K to date. Today’s “mileage” was 22K to our lodging. We knew it would be a tough one because of anticipated heat (93 degrees at the end of the trail), and the last “services” were at 9.5K.
That means no water fountains, no towns, no nada for four hours (or more?). And, did I mention the heat? In preparation, we decided to take the risk of leaving our rain coats, rain pants and backpack covers in the suitcase to make our backpacks lighter.
We filled our “camelback” water pouches to the brim, 2 liters.
Water or Wine?
Look what we found at the Monastery at 3K mark—la Fuente de Vino. The fountain of wine. One tap is water, one is wine. We didn’t bring cups, so we had to improvise.
Until two Italian bicyclists showed up and offered a tin cup.
Yes, it was bueno. Donna and I each took a sip and called it Camino communion.
(It has taken me more than two hours to create the above post. It’s getting close to bedtime, so I’m going to try and post the picture (I have a great video that I may put on Facebook) that captures the dramatic, albeit somewhat desolate scenery.
And we realized how precious our Camelback water reservoirs were when we stepped to the side of trail for a passing car.
“It’s the police!” I said. “What in the world are they doing out here?”
The car with two uniformed officers stopped beside us, rolled down the window and asked, “Esta bein? You OK?”
I answered yes in Spanish and the officer driving knew enough English to communicate that they were patrolling the Camino with the sole purpose of helping peregrinos (Pilgrims walking the Camino). He asked if we had enough water, we said we did by wiggling the spigot of our water bladders.
Then he told us that there are no water fountains in Los Arcos, which was our destination. And nothing between us and Los Arcos.
OK, we’re OK.
“If you need help, you call 062,” he said as he pointed to the outside of the driver’s side of the vehicle. “We here for peregrinos.”
When we truly looked at the vehicle and read what was on the side, we got so excited and touched by the focus of these men and their mission.
”Can we take a picture?” I asked in Spanish.
“Si, si,” he said, and took my phone from me.
And then Donna said, “We want YOU in the picture!”
Kojak of the Camino!
We ended the day in good spirits. That’s a win, trust me. The last 2 or 3K is when the mental game comes into play. Horse-to-Barn mode is not the best, but Grumpy Town is worse. Today was “Hot and Bothered, but Proud and Powerful.”
You chat with someone along the way, and you don’t learn their name, so you give them a label. So there’s Miami Man. Or Red Shirt Guy. New Zealand Gals. If we could keep up with the Boys in the Band, we would have. But they are three student-age looking guys carrying fully loaded backpacks and each one has what looks like a violin case strapped on, too.
Once you encounter someone again, maybe then you chat enough to ask the person’s name. Three years ago we forgot so many names that we promised each other that we would take pictures and capture names, too, this time around.
We said goodby to Bernard and Mrs. Bernard from France in Los Arcos. They were “only” walking as far as Logrono because the had to bet home in time for their daughter’s wedding.
Monday Night Made Merrier.
Monday night our lodging did not have a kitchen for serving dinner, so we had a voucher to a nearby place. Donna and I sat down early, which in Spain means 7:45 p.m.
A few more tables started to fill and we heard English being spoken at each one. New Zealand Gals were at one table (Sue and Michelle) and Aussie Couple were at another (Mark and Brooke). By the end of the evening we asked Man Bun the waiter to take our picture.
(L to R): Brooke and Mark (Melbourne), Sue (NZ), Donna, Me, Michelle (NZ).
Our room Monday night also got a nickname the moment we opened the door. Red Room. Not R E D R U M, I clarified to Donna (and for the benefit of any Stephen King fans.)
How hot was it Monday?
Very. Heat rash is an issue we hadn’t anticipated, but one trip to the Farmacia and we had relief cream.
Tuesday Morning Delight.
Turns out Sue and Michelle were staying our hotel. We saw them at breakfast and the introduced us to Mark and Margaret (M & M) from New South Wales.
We know that Sue and Michelle are staying in the same town we are Tuesday night, so we are hoping we see them again and perhaps can eat together.
As for Tuesday’s walk, I took a couple of videos to show the contrast. I’ll do a separate post and see if I can get them to upload. If not, I may have to resort to Facebook. (Sorry, Mom. I’ll email them directly to you if that happens.)
book over the summer.
Very. Heat rash is an issue we hadn’t anticipated, but one trip to the Farmacia and we had relief cream.
I first heard about the Camino de Santiago de Compostela from my friend Mark LeBlanc. He took about 30 days to walk the 500-mile trek across northern Spain in 2008, and I helped him write a book about the experience, Never Be the Same. My daughter Kelsey read the book, and in 2014, she walked the same 500-mile path known as The French Way in about a month. Mark walked it a second time that same year, missing Kelsey on the steps of the St. James Cathedral only by a few weeks.
