"I 'ave a toast.."

Sometimes when a pilgrim wakes on the morning of the most difficult stage of hiking,  superman underwear are an absolute necessity. 

Ameya and I woke slightly stiff from our long wander the day before and walked gingerly down to a breakfast of cereal bowl sized cafe con leches and assorted pastries before hefting backpacks and grabbing our walking sticks. We walked companionably through the first 5 km of farmland, only stopping momentarily to pet an appreciative cow. But almost immediately, the mountains rose to taunt us, reaching up into the clouds. "We can do this" we said, our eyes wide and looking heavenwards. Other pilgrims sat in the grass nearby, shoveling energy/food into their faces, mentally preparing for the climb ahead while a stray cow watched judgmentally. We trudged slowly up the freakishly steep path, the promise of a spectacular view, shoving us forward, and upon reaching the "top" we discovered that we had only just begun. 

Unlike the previous misty days, the morning of our highest climbing had dawned clear and bright and the air held that crispness that only exists in the presence of mountains and cows.  As we climbed higher, our turtle forms shuffled forward 5 inches at a time between each break for water. Sweat collected on our sunscreen saturated foreheads and our walking sticks bore our heavy forward leaning weight. But similar, I 
suppose, to childbirth, upon lifting our heads and looking around us to see the world drop dramatically away, all pain was immediately forgotten... (Though some pilgrims would claim otherwise.)

"Today, I was sitting on a mountain, eating lunch with this incredible view and I wanted to share this moment with my husband," Joanne told us in her adorable Quebec accent over dinner later that night. "So I called him and he picked up on the first ring. I ask him where he is and what does he say?? The toilet!" Joanne shrugged cutely and puckered her lips as we laughed and collectively launched into a conversation of phones in bathrooms. 

We seasoned pilgrims had spent a grueling but spectacular 9 hours hiking through the Asturian mountains, charting the most physically difficult stage of any Spanish camino with an ascension of approximately a thousand meters. We had touched the crumbling stones of medieval pilgrim alburgues with distant horizons stretching in all directions. We had passed each other multiple times as differing break times constantly brought us all even. We all nearly face planted our way down a crumbling steep descent, and we all stumbled gratefully into the first bar in 20 kilometers in the tiny town of Lago. Our backpacks littered the ground like dead upside down June bugs outside the bar as thirsty pilgrims marveled over extra ice cubes. Upon discovering the full bar, Ameya, our Oxford friend Paul, our happy Russian Dimitri and myself realized that unless we got moving, we would be sleeping outside. And so, with tired legs and obscenely oppressive backpacks, the four of us raced the final three kilometers to Burducedo to secure the last two rooms above one of the town's two bars. 

"I 'ave a toast.." Dimitri said in a thick Russian accent. Paul, Karin, Joanne, Ameya and I put down our forks and raised our glasses as Dimitri continued. "I wish to buy a house..but I am able to buy a goat. Let's toast that our abilities match our wishes!"  We clinked our glasses and laughed long into the night.

 Ameya being knighted after climbing his first mountain, as per Dimitri's instructions.. We didn't have a sword..

 The parting of the Red Sea..

 The right idea!!

Take two..

We had had a stutter start, racing by train out of the sad little economically depressed town of Grado and momentarily back to Oviedo in order to stock up on much overlooked anti chafing supplies. (I won't name names...) The next morning had us back on the trail in Salas after a quick coffee and pastry in Cafe Berlin where the woman behind the counter sent us on our way with apples for our packs. 

We marched off out of town into the misty landscape, lush, dew heavy trees surrounding us as our sticks and feet dodged the many snails and slugs dotting the path. Since the sun remained covered, we energetically raced forward past curious cow eyes  and singing roosters. Our sticks and steps fell into a rhythm while our path became a tunnel of greenery fit for fairies and elves. We stopped for a quick lunch of bread, tuna and fruit before walking out of the beautiful hillside town of Tineo.  We followed a hill hugging trail of soft leaves leading to a descent through a forest of tall skyscraper pines and into a soggy farm, complete with adorable dogs as greeters. I stopped to scratch the ears of a little spaniel, his eyes rolling back in happiness as his tail wagged wildly.  

No matter how far or short a distance that a pilgrim walks, the last two kilometers are always the hardest and sure enough, gentle pastoral paths segued to a dreary stretch of highway leading us to the one block long farming town of Campiello. 

Occasionally a pilgrim can feel unwelcome in Spain, occasionally Spaniards can be extremely impatient or refuse to slow speech down for a pilgrim, occasionally a pilgrim can be frustrated by all the rules and etiquette of how things are done. However, the moment a pilgrim walks into Casa Herminia, these feelings of awkwardness disappear. 

"Dinner is at 7pm."
"What time is it now?"
"6:50"
"Shit!"
We raced through our showers and turned up with wet hair and shiny faces to a lovingly prepared dinner of empanadas, Asturian stew, lentil soup, salads, a main course of slow cooked beef with saffron potatoes and dessert of arroz con leche or flan. While in some places, the people dismiss the pilgrims as a nuisance, others, like Herminia, shower them with kindness and love. In the words of my guidebook, Herminia has built an empire based on the passing pilgrims. With a clean albergue, hot showers, comfortable beds, freshly painted cheery walls, and incredibly delicious food, Herminia's town of Campiello is a welcome respite, and as a reward for her love and enterprising spirit, Herminia will retire young and well!

We enjoyed our family style dinner seated at a long table of pilgrims, next to Joanne, a fit woman from Montreal who teaches special needs kids, Paul, an older man from Oxford, Dimitri a happy Russian, Emma, am English optometrist and the smiling face of our favorite pilgrim friend Karin. We chatted over passed heaping plates of food and ate to a point beyond stuffed. And upon heading to our beds, Ameya said, "yeah, I like this!"  

"We'll see if you still feel that way when climbing the mountains tomorrow!!"

Cerrado

We departed Oviedo early, the morning sun only offering a taste of that to come. Shops in Oviedo had been closed on Sunday but as we were leaving early Monday, they still had not opened for us to resupply. We headed off into the hills with only a loaf of bread, water and a chocolate bar to get us through the day's stage. 

"Easy and relaxing, my ass!" my husband grunted, annoyed with our guidebook authors ability to understate the inclines of the day. "What, did he grow up in the Alps!!"

 We stumbled 12 kilometers later into an empty bar but for two brightly dressed old women. "Todo es carne?" I asked as the impatient bar keep sized me up. "Si," he said, before dismissively turning his back to me.  We packed up and lifted our bags to our backs as the two ladies discussed and wondered over why pilgrims were not staying in the little alburgue over the bar. I looked up at the empty alburgue and spotted a sign stating "do not remove boots on  the premises." After my run in with a surly barkeep, it was clear that this little town wanted the pilgrim money, but wanted nothing to do with the pilgrim. We left quickly. 

"There should be a bar in the next town, Peñaflor," we trudged on, anticipating the fresh clean Fanta that awaited us and arrived to meet 3 other hungry pilgrims and a sign on the door stating "Cerrado Lunes."  There was a beautiful Romanesque bridge crossing the river, but as we were hungry, we didn't notice. 

25 kilometers from our starting point, my husband and I limped into the eerily quiet town of Grado, starving and in pain. After securing a room in the shabby though lovingly run cheap hotel Autobar at the end of town, I left my husband on his own to assess his blisters and damage of his first day's walk, and I headed out to explore. 

Regal old houses stood with overgrown lawns and pealing paint, shutters hung crookedly. Buildings with crumbling corners and clinging cobwebs lined the streets forlornly. Broken glass, graffiti and shuttered stores led to the post apocalyptic feel of this town in decline. The eyes of the old men and women on their park benches followed my every move suspiciously as I window shopped my way down the street. The sound of children almost entirely absent in this forgotten town where the young adults leave quickly in order to find work. The old sit and watch. 

"Something isn't right in this town," I said as I sat down to dinner next to my husband and a talkative warm German woman named Karin. I had just returned from my exploration and had had an encounter with an old man who had sung to me while trying to get me to buy tuna. "Everything seems a bit off!" Karin shook her head enthusiastically, "I will leave early tomorrow. I want to get out of here."

Our hotel and bar, run by a mother and son, offered a pilgrims menu of brothy fish soup and salad. Karin, Ameya and and I worked though our courses as we chatted of travel, politics, and the oddness of this first days walk out of Oviedo. I silently worried, as I wanted my husband to fall in love with the beauty of traveling and Spain was showing her ugly side. I worried that Ameya was uncomfortable and miserable, in pain from blisters in unmentionable areas, that this trip was a crazy idea to him and he didn't want to waste his vacation walking through creepy little towns and eating food he didn't understand. I worried that the next day, our plans would change. We would wake up in the morning back where we began, with no common ground. I ate my simple soup and I worried. 

Ameya fell immediately into a deep esophagus rattling sleep and I laid awake on my separate creaky little bed with its threadbare cover. "James, what are we doing here?" 

Saint James chuckled, "I wonder if the pilgrims of the Middle Ages would have used the train if they could? Pah, the way to my house should not be life or death or strewn with misery. Just come for a visit. See what you see in the morning."

I nodded and closed my eyes, falling off into the night's darkness.