Najera

Today I walked 28.9 kilometers, from Logroño to Nájera. That’s 17.9 miles for those of you on the other side of the pond.

It was my first day walking and while the last 5 kilometers hurt, it felt good to be walking and breathing.

Had a terrible night in Logroño. Stayed at the municipal albergue where a large loud group of Americans and Italians came in late, like after 10 pm!, and were so loud and drunk and obnoxious. It made me question myself entirely! Like who does this as a vacation? Sleep in bunk beds in a room with 24 other people!?

Today I’m staying in a private albergue with the perfectly reasonable number of 8 in a room. But we already have a snorer so as soon as I finish writing I’m going out to buy ear plugs.

I left the albergue at 6:33 am. A bit late for me. Very soon after starting I met Mary and Kevin from Montana. Retired, grown children, she a retired elementary teacher, he retired military. They were lovely to talk to and walk with. It was nice walking out of the city with partners. Walking into and out of cities isn’t my favorite part of the Camino- traffic, suburbs, not always well marked, so it was nice to be with others. And it reminded me what I enjoy about the Camino- the people!

We walked together until we reached a nice large park with a lake. They stopped to look at the swans, I stopped to take a picture of the cherry blossoms and this funny sign:

And then our rhythms were out of sync and we wished each other well- “Buen Camino” and I resumed walking alone.

I also walked with an interesting young man from South Korea who writes children’s books for a living and had never been outside his country before this trip and had never spent time with foreigners before this trip.

Finally I walked with Gianluca from Italy who knew all the wild herbs that were growing alongside the path. He would pick one and have me smell it and tell me all that it could do for you. Then he read my tarot cards over a beer. We pretended to understand each other. He spoke in an Italian/ Spanish mix. I spoke in a Spanish/ English mix. This is also his 3rd Camino.

And dear reader, now that you know the characters, would you like to know the setting?

Today was not the most beautiful walk I’m afraid. The park was green with new flowers just blooming- poppies, calendula, cherry and apple blossoms, irises, mallow, and this awesome bright yellow flowered bush. All the greenery is that sweet spring bright green.

Then onto the vineyards. I’m in La Rioja, the wine producing region of Spain. The vineyards covered in red earth, and the small grape trees just just starting to grow, small green buds- in Spanish brotes- sprouting here and there.

But too much of today’s walk was alongside highways for my tastes. And on hard concrete paths which aren’t nice on the muscles.

And now I’m in Nájera which is sandwiched between a river and this giant impressive red rock that caves have been carved out of. These pictures are from the room I am sleeping in tonight.

And with that, I must go find some ear buds, dinner, and visit the tourist office to see about visiting this UNESCO monastery tomorrow.

Home for the Holidays

We left Vermont for NY in the early afternoon on Monday.  It snowed most of the way.  Small, early winter snow flakes that barely kissed the car.  And like magic, as we turned off of 22A and into NY state, it stopped and the sun came out.

On Tuesday I went to the Spanish Embassy on East 58th street.  I don’t think I’ve been there since I got married.  I had to get some authorization forms for Isabel’s Spanish passport.  I was somewhat successful.

It was a perfectly warm autumn day.  Sunny.  Open coat, open scarf, sunglasses on, almost sweating as I walked.  And so I walked.  I walked down Lexington from 58th to Kalustyans on 28th and Lex.  Then further south, around Gramercy Park and then on to Union Square.  It felt good to move my body after having driven the day before.  It felt good to walk in my city.  NY is a good city for walking.  It was lunchtime and my walking companions were business people out getting lunch.  Men and women in their work clothes and sunglasses, taking their time with bags of takeout in their hands.  Everyone knows how to walk.  I did get stuck behind an old lady with a cane and some dolt with their head in phone as we walked under construction scaffolding, but I got past.  I do love a city where people know how to walk.

Wednesday Dad and I shopped.  Thursday, Thanksgiving,  we cooked.

I used to host Thanksgiving dinner when I lived in Spain.  At first I thought it would be an orphan’s Thanksgiving for fellow Americans who were in Madrid.  But everyone hosts one of those and so my Thanksgiving morphed into an American Thanksgiving for Spaniards.  Alfonso would invite his friends and cousins, my sister-in-law.  It was a lot of work for me to prepare a “Traditional American Thanksgiving Dinner” alone – but I did it.  And somewhat enjoyed it.  Cranberries were impossible to find.  One year, I had my dad send me some.  Turkeys had to be pre-ordered from the pollería.  I’d make stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce (when I had whole cranberries — no can shaped cranberry disks for me!) mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, simple green beans, an apple pie and a pumpkin pie and the turkey of course.  Generally, Spaniards think no one knows how to eat as well as they do.  They also tend to think that Americans only eat hamburgers and french fries.  I relished in showing them that that was untrue.   We would drink many bottles of wine.  It was fun.  One year a friend of A’s cousin insisted on bringing bread.  “I can’t eat without bread.”  I said, ok, but there is bread in the stuffing…  He also wanted turkey drippings to sop up with said bread.  I said, ok, but there is gravy (with drippings in it).

The last year I hosted I was pregnant.  Newly pregnant, first trimester.  We weren’t telling anyone yet.  Halfway through cooking the turkey, our oven (which had been on the fritz for a long time coming) completely broke.  I cried.  Alfonso drove the turkey and the stuffing and a pie to his sister’s house where she finished cooking everything in her oven, sending me photos all along to make sure things looked ok.    Guests came, they were none the wiser.  Everyone drank wine.  I did not.  Everyone stayed late.  I wanted to go to bed.  Cooking thanksgiving dinner while 2 months pregnant is not for the faint hearted.  It was the last one that I hosted in Spain and the last one that I did alone.

This year, the day after Thanksgiving I had to return to the Spanish Embassy.  I was worried about Black Friday traffic and crowds.  But I was in luck.  I hopped on the express bus, got downtown from The Bronx in record time.   And also surprisingly, the Spanish bureaucracy was also on my side.  The person at the first desk seemed to understand and know exactly what I needed and so I was allowed in to wait to see someone at the next desk.  I had to wait a good hour.  The Spanish Embassy of NYC is on the 30th floor of a high-rise on East 58th Street.  The airy room has large windows with expansive views north.  The room was filled mostly with bi-national families.  I easily marked who was Spanish and who American in each set.  The kids spoke freely in unaccented English and unaccented Spanish.   I felt, how did I feel?  I felt a strange sense of sadness and comfort.  Right, I too was a part of a bi-national family.   It felt totally comfortable to wait in that sparse, clean room with gorgeous views.  (More than one person took selfies as they waited).    But it also felt sad.  I *was* part of a Spanish American family.

The young and pretty Spanish woman finally called my name (mispronounced as I expected) and she responded in lovely English as I spoke in my unpracticed Spanish.  All would be taken care of – no problem. Isabel will be able to renew her Spanish passport while in Spain without me being there.    It was almost too easy even with the hour long wait.

With my afternoon to myself I decided to take myself to see a movie, Lady Bird.  As luck would have it, there was a showing in about 40 minutes at the Lowes on Broadway and 19th.  I hopped on the N train at 59th  which arrived just as I stepped on the platform – more luck!

While not pleased with $15 price tag for ONE person for an afternoon showing, I was pleasantly surprised that the bathroom was a mess, toilets overflowing, holes in the wall – AH – NY still has some dirt, its not all so shiny.

Lady Bird was great.  I laughed and cried.  I loved the 17 year old main character.  Ostensibly it is a coming of age story about the relationship between mother and daughter.  But also, underneath it all, is about the desire to live somewhere else, to leave your home, to fantasize and dream of living somewhere other than where you are.

I got it. I get it.  I did that too.

I took the bus back up to The Bronx, the same bus that I’ve been taking all my life.  Sitting in the same seat on the bus up to my parents’ house.  No traffic (lucky again!).  I sat with thoughts of the movie, and sat with thoughts of the Spanish American families at the embassy and sat with the idea of home.  The Bronx is home.  Madrid is home.  Vermont is home.  I am home.

 

 

 

Winter Sky

It’s cold here in Burlington. Really really cold. Like, warnings on the news, stay inside cold. Like the kids didn’t even go outside to play today at Isabel’s daycare cold. 

And yet, I am strangely enjoying it.

A week ago as I walked home from my seminar I was struck by the beauty of the winter sky– so clear and blue with small white clouds- this perfect Vermont winter sky. Sun glistening on white snow.  I walked home, dropped off my stuff, sat for a minute, then left again to walk downtown to the supermarket. The sun setting as I made my way home again. My eyes focused above on the changing sky. Orange pink clouds reflecting the last light from the sun. 

The air so refreshingly cold, it makes you feel alive.

All week I became one with the cold. I have an amazing coat, LL Bean boots, North Face hat, some great warm second hand sweaters, wool socks, my ever expanding scarf collection.  I love bundling up, heading out, my face and the tips of my fingers cold, the rest warm. I’ve recently rediscovered the joy in listening to music as I walk. For years I’ve preferred to hear my own thoughts as I walk, but something about the cold makes me want to put in my ear buds and match my steps to the rhythm of an external source.

Today I had another seminar. (They’re going well, by the way! Actually starting to enjoy it after a slow start).  And again I walked.  It was much colder than last week’s walk. And still the air in my lungs feels clean and fresh.   The crows were flying in formation and cawing so loudly I took out my ear buds and stopped and looked and listened. Cars driving down St Paul must have wondered what the crazy lady standing looking up at the sky in this dangerously cold weather was doing.  It was so cold my phone stopped working.  I got one picture, but no crows. 

Then the snow started, the wind picked up — tiny, icy knives blowing into your face– I continued walking. 

https://youtu.be/cyyRi3l7E_k

Reflections on a year

Yesterday I spent the day wrapped in Vermont’s autumnal beauty.  India wanted to walk in the woods for her birthday. Her husband spent the day with our daughters so we could do just that. We drove through the back roads to Warren. Towering trees created a yellow canopy of leaves above the road. The foliage, while spectacular, is just past peak. The colors are still there, but the trees are becoming barer. As we drove, our golden canopy was in flux as the leaves were blown to the ground.  The mountains still show the rainbow of reds, yellows, greens and oranges, but there are more leaves on the ground now than in the trees. 

We walked to the river. It’s been so dry that we were able to walk up the river’s path, carefully stepping on rocks to get to dryer land.  The air was unseasonably warm.  The wind was warm. It was somewhat overcast, but not unpleasant.

After our walk we drove to the town of Warren.  It’s like a stage set – Pretty Vermont Town. It’s almost too much, flags flying, pumpkins, mums and homemade scarecrows dotting front yards.  We got sandwiches at the Warren Store . http://m.sevendaysvt.com/BiteClub/archives/2016/10/14/dining-on-a-dime-sandwiches-and-cider-floats-at-the-warren-store 

It seemed a fitting  way to celebrate the eve of my 1 year anniversary in Vermont. 

A year ago today I packed up my parents’ car with a couple of suitcases, my mother’s autumn wool coat, a set of sheets and a bedspread that I had just bought at Target, and really not much more.     The decision to move to Vermont had seemed somewhat spontaneous and yet completely considered and absolutely correct. It was like when I got offered the job in Japan- oh, I guess I’m moving to Japan. 

I suppose in order to talk about moving to Vermont I also have to talk about the elephant in the room. If Isabel and I were moving to Vermont, it meant that we were also moving away from somewhere else.  It’s a delicate difficult dance, the art of separation. I don’t/ can’t / won’t write publicly about leaving my husband, about leaving Isabel’s father. You can see it from many lenses, selfish, unkind, courageous, life saving.  

But this is not a post about that.

I arrived without much. I’ve been beyond blessed by the generosity of friends. 

In the last year, as I picked up the pieces and put them back together, I found my tribe of strong women friends, I decorated my apartment in shades of electric blue and bright yellow and orange, I gave my daughter a bedroom of her own, I got adopted by a cat, I grew tomatoes and potatoes ( but not carrots!), I walked, I practiced yoga, I paid my bills, I decided to go back to school, I downloaded and then deleted (at least twice!) tindr and OkCupid apps on my phone, I turned 40, I settled in and made a home, I mothered my child. 

We’re happy here. We’re home. 

Late August Bounty

Today is the last day of August.  It is raining and the air is cool.  I should be studying.

We’ve been back in Vermont for almost a week and everything is green and lush and overgrown.  The morning glories that I left a month ago have done their job and have grown up and over the staircase as I had imagined they would.  When I left there might have been one flower.  Now there are countless – mostly dark purple, but some white and pink and a few baby blues as well.  I planted two different varieties.  Then when they weren’t growing, I planted some more.   They’re growing.  They’ve grown.  They’re happy.

Many of my neighbors have sunflowers.  When we left a month ago they were just getting big, the taller ones at my shoulder height.  Now they tower above me.  My next door neighbor has ones that are towering over her shed with faces the size of giant pie plates.

My tomatoes are out of control.  Who can eat so many cherry tomatoes?  The day we arrived my upstairs neighbor, who had been watering my garden while I was away, had left a bowl of them on my counter.  My parents and I ate them up.  As you walked into the kitchen you’d just pop one into your mouth.  They were sweet and tasted of the earth.   But I have so many I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed!  One carrot plant actually grew!  But my peppers were shadowed by the insane tomatoes.  I’m not sure how my beets and chard are doing, they too are overshadowed by the tomato bounty.  I was thinking I’d work in the garden today, but the rain has other plans for me.

Isabel has started at pre-school.  It’s right down the street, you could almost see it from our front steps.  She has charmed all her teachers right away.  The first day they said, “She’s so confident!”   The second day they said, “Is she always so cheerful?”  Haha.  Today is bread making day at her school and so Isabel ran over to the table where they were kneading the bread and joined in right away.  I love the atmosphere and I couldn’t be happier that she’s attending.

My horoscope this week said that this is a season of rebirth for me.  And it strangely is. October 17 will mark one year in Vermont.  After a year of putting myself back together, I feel ready to move forward.

Music in the streets – Madrid

Last night after using the free wifi of the Apple Store in Puerto del Sol, I encountered more music in the streets.

In Callao, a man conducting and a woman playing the piano were on the back of a flat bed truck. Surrounding them were a very large group of people, all singing. At the very front women and men in typical, traditional Madrileño clothing. Some people had flyers with the lyrics. Other people just knew the music. 

When the song ended, everyone clapped and whistled and rang their bycicle bells. I suddenly realized I was surrounded by bikes! The conductor said we’re off to Lavapies, come and join us! 

The older ladies and men in costume walked to a bus that was waiting for them. The rest on foot or bike to Lavapies. 

Music in the streets: from Los Arcos to Madrid

I arrived to Los Arcos by bus, 1,70€, 25 minutes. Seems funny when you think that it would have taken me at least 4 hours to walk the same journey, but probably closer to 5 or 6 with coffee breaks!

Los Arcos was in the middle of their week of town festivos. Los festivos del pueblos are a great time! All (most?) small Spanish towns have a week of celebrating usually in August, and believe or not, this was my first! 

The center square of Los Arcos was covered in sand and there was railing and very shaky scaffolding seating around the square. Los Arcos has their own, much smaller, running of the Bulls- just like in Pamplona- but in miniature! Wooden fencing had been erected around the streets for  safety from the Bulls. 

Before knowing about the festivities, I had told all my Camino friends to meet me in the main square at 6 to share a drink as it would be my last day on the Camino (this year). However the running began at 6! No worries, it was a small town.  Everyone was out and I was able to share a drink with my Camino family and say my goodbyes.

All the inhabitants of the village were wearing white and red. Typical of this region. White pants and white shirt, red sash at the waist, red bandana around the neck. Most women wore red accessories- red shoes, red purse, red fans.  What a sight- all the villagers in clean white and bright red and then the pilgrims wandering around in their pilgrim clothes. 

The streets were alive- young and old. One of my favorite things of Spain is how multigenerational all public spaces are.  Joie de vivre is something the Spanish are good at!

We watched a little bit of the bulls being chased around and didn’t really enjoy it. Suddenly music started playing somewhere. “Let’s go find the music,” I said. So we did. They were around the corner. The town band, sitting down at a terraza, metal tables that had been pushed together, all in white and red, beers in front of them.  

I took too many videos. They’re posted below. 

Conversations and hugs and laughs lasted late and we didn’t get back to the Albergue until after curfew. 

I had really wanted to dedicate my last day of walking to those who were continuing on. I met beautiful people this time, just like last time. It’s an amazing feeling to bond with strangers from all corners of the earth who are all on this crazy pilgrimage for all different reasons or no reason at all. Just to see what the human spirit is able to accomplish. 

Yesterday I wrote that I was back to myself in Madrid. As if my clothes or jewelry make me who I am.  But that’s the beauty of the Camino family- no one knows what you look like off the Camino. You are stripped bare to who you are at your core. 

It’s a beautiful thing and I’m so grateful that I’ve found it.

I am super thankful that I could walk for a few days but longer would have been nice.  Your muscles are like your brain. The first day is full of joyful optimism. Wow! I’m going to walk 30 km today! And then the next 2 days your legs say- what the hell is wrong with you? What kind of vacation is this? You want us to walk 30 k again in this heat?!  But sure enough, day 3 and your legs comply. They say ok, fine, lets walk. And for me, my mental outlook is the same.   It takes me a few days to warm up and make friends.  I have a hard time starting conversations those first few days but sure enough- by day 5- I love everyone! 

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Estella, Los Arcos and the end…

I’m in Madrid. I’m showered, wearing earrings, mascara, some lipstick, a dress, my fashionable Vaalbara purse. I’m back to me. I’ll see Isabel in 2 days. Tomorrow I’ll go to the Prado and contemplate some Bosch. I like the business of the Apple Store from where I’m writing this. But, yes, it is bittersweet to say goodbye to the Camino. 

I do wish I were still walking.

What can I say about my last two days on the Camino? A lot, a little, too much, not enough… Will the descriptions match the memories or will they leave them smudged and fuzzy?

The walk from Puente la Reina to Estella would be my last day walking and had I known I might have taken in more details.

 I walked alone in the morning but met up with Rosalind and Natalee at some point. We chatted easily and freely. We were talking about men and silly dating shows when Natalee breathlessly reported, “There’s a cowboy behind us.” And sure enough, like out of a movie, appeared Zorro, tank top, tight riding pants, brown tanned arms, cowboy hat and riding a beautiful horse. Who am I kidding? I know nothing about horses, it was the man who was beautiful! And he had a friend. And then his blond, thin girlfriend came riding up and casually ran her hand down his arm, marking her turf. We stopped and shamelessly took pictures anyway!

When we walked into town a kilometer later, they were tying up their horses and they shamelessly looked at us as we walked by. Natalee and I looking down and giggling like schoolgirls. Rosalind smiling right back and receiving a gallant tip of the hat from the Cowboys.

Man, we were still giggling about that this morning! 

Sometimes you need good/bad thoughts to help you get through the walk!

I did part with the girls later in the day in order to visit (another) ancient church. The Hermitage of San Miguel, built in the 10th century. All the important art that was once inside has been brought to different museums, but the gate stays open. Inside, dark, empty but for a stark wooden cross on the wall and 2 stone alters. The alters are covered with hand written notes, prayers, photos, all with rocks holding them down.  I read some, but it felt like reading someone’s diary so I stopped. I prayed. I talked out loud to God. I said thank you for being able to do this walk.  I prayed for what I always do- health and happiness for the ones I love. Strength and courage for those who need it. I slowly said each person’s name out loud. And I cried. And I felt the presence of God in all the pilgrims who had prayed in that same spot. I left into the hot, bright sun feeling like another person. 

(Don’t worry dear reader, 3 days back in the city and I’ll be back to my secular self.)

That night, walking though the cobblestoned streets with the girls and Michael from Australia, we were all so giddy and happy. For me, my legs didn’t hurt anymore, the blisters were ok. We drank some wine, window browsed in the cute antique shops. And so I frivolously thought I’d do some yoga in the back garden of a cute new agey shop.  And this is where the story turns sad dear reader. I tried to float back into plank and didn’t stick the landing. I somehow jammed my big toe pretty badly.  I am now a hobbled, limping pilgrim. 

With one day left to walk, I could no longer walk.

The next morning I was forced to take a bus to Los Arcos.   I was so disappointed in myself. I don’t hurt myself walking, no I hurt myself not paying attention doing yoga! Silly girl. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

But Los Arcos would prove to be a fitting, fortunate place for me to say goodbye to this stage of the Camino, for me to say goodbye to the friends I had made, for me to close this chapter and move on to the next.

So despite the title of this post I think I’ll give Los Arcos its own post and will write it tomorrow!

Camino conversations

Isn’t this beautiful!?

How’d you sleep?

Any snorers in your room last night?

Where are you walking to today?

Where did you start?

Will you walk to Santiago?

Where are you from?

Isn’t this landscape awesome!?

Should we stop here for a coffee or go on to the next town?

How many kilometers today?

Isn’t this amazing!?

How’re your feet?

Wow, just beautiful, isn’t it?

Morning routine

Someone always wakes up before 5 and starts rustling around, plastic bags and zippers, bodies trying to be quiet. 

Most of the alarms start going off at 5:30, like mine. Then off you go. Bathroom, brush teeth, pack bag, roll up sleeping bag and stuff it into its bag. 

Then your conscientious pilgrim will move into the common space to continue packing up as there are still people sleeping and the light can be on in a common space.

And then once we’re all packed up, foot care commences. Everyone has a different routine for their feet, but we all do something- moisturize,  check bandages, rebandage, tape, retape. It’s quite a process. Then socks then boots then finally pack.

And then you’re off.

Buen Camino!