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:
Ta Dah! We are strong at the top.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).
