I felt lighter as we left the outskirts of Logroño. Buoyant, even. Maybe it was the three pounds of gear I’d left behind me. Or the fresh trail runners adding new energy to my stride. Or the kinship I was developing with the small cohort of pilgrims that we’d kept running into since Orisson, a recurring international cast of characters offering a “Buen Camino!” as we strolled. My blisters were healing nicely. Mom and I had found a bit of…
We slept in to 8am, reveling in the extra slumber afforded by our rest day in Logroño. Most days we tried to start walking by 7am, which meant 6am wake-ups. Only a few weeks ago I would have balked at such an early rise. I’m a night owl by trade, but like mom’s diet, was forced to reconcile my preferences with the demands of the Camino. Having an extra two hours of sleep felt like pure luxury, and I savored…
The first rays of morning light peeked over the steeple of Santa Maria as we departed Los Arcos with a group of 10 pilgrims for Logroño, one of Spain’s precious cultural and culinary jewels. The melodic hum of an accordion followed us on our way out of town, a small cadre of locals greeting the rising sun with song in the town square. It was a glorious, if polka-y send off. With relief, I noticed that my traumatized feet seemed…
“It’s not your legs you have to worry about. It’s your feet.” My fellow pilgrim’s words rang all too true with each step towards Los Arcos, my toes crying in agony. I’d done what I could to limit the heat, moisture, and friction in my Merrells – compeed, moleskine, you name it – but it wasn’t enough. Two large blisters throbbed angrily on each of my pinky toes, with more on the way. In my focus on the length of…
The vegetation took on more bristle as we left Puenta la Reina and moved deeper into the parched Mediterranean region of Spain, the leafy evergreens and lush mountain meadows receding to the deep-rooted, hardy plants that thrive in the hot Spanish sun with limited access to water. The Path itself looked chapped and ruddy, the undulating cracks and crevices in the road like dry, cracked lips longing for water. The cumulus clouds above us were a welcome reprieve from the…
The early morning hours of Pamplona were blissfully quiet as we started our journey to Puenta la Reina. The streets were completely empty, save for the street sweepers washing away the remnants of last night’s revelry. I took a long, slow breath, filling myself up with the cool morning air and the promise of a fresh start. The previous day had been challenging, both emotionally and physically. So the night before, mom and I agreed on new ground rules to…