A Day In The Life

Today was another long, hot, flat day on the Meseta, 26.4 km (16.4 miles) from Terradillos to Calzadilla de los Hermanillos. By popular demand, Ben is taking over the keyboard today to tell you what life is like for us out here. Buen Camino.

---------

I awake to the rustling of my father grunting his way out of the hospital bed next to mine. He makes his way slowly into the bathroom and shuts the door. He hasn’t turned on the light yet, giving me hope that it’s nothing more than a midnight calling. I reach out for my phone on the night stand between our beds, hoping painfully the time will read something like 3:15.

7:02

Ugh. I roll over, still tired from a fitful night sleep - the Camino has a way of getting into your head, even in sleep. I lie in bed, listening to the sounds from the bathroom, waiting for the door to open and the light to switch on, heralding my need to get up,.

I do eventually slide my way out of bed and shuffle over to the now vacant bathroom. The next twenty minutes or so are spent in a frenzy of packing, unpacking because one of us forgot to pack something else, repacking, unpacking again because we packed something too early, repacking once more; we stuff and shove as much as possible into our packs, each one in the same order and fashion as the last day like a puzzle.

We both tend to leave out the same clothes each morning, weather depending. I slide into my weighty hiking shorts, a t-shirt that emits a rather pungent odor from the sweat expelled during the previous day’s battle. I then throw my passport bag over my shoulder, sliding my phone inside as well, before tossing on a fleece sweatshirt that has certainly seen better days, and my windbreaker.

All the while my dad has been dressed and fuddling around with what he calls “the medicine cabinet”: a bag full of all the medications, wraps, bandages, gel covers, ointments, scalpels, potions, frog legs, unicorn tears, and leprechaun whiskers we’ve needed (and by we I mostly mean him) to surpass our various ailments. After he’s done tending to his own various blisters with gel toe caps and bandages, I turn and let him tend to the massive blister on the back of my heel that’s difficult for me to reach.

Preparing for a day's walk on the Camino

The "medicine cabinet" atop Dad's pack

7:34

With our bodies in order (at least as much as they can be), we throw on our beanies, escape our abode, drop the keys off in a small box near the front desk and slither on out the door into the cool morning air, all about an hour after most of our fellow pilgrims. We first stop off in a cafe for some espressos to breathe life back into our tired bones and grab a pastry.

I take a glance at the book that has become our bible along the Camino and we exchange some small talk about the challenges for the day ahead.

“We’ve got an early push for about 6.3 kms to second breakfast.”

“I’m more worried about this 8.2 km slog we’ll have after lunch to the end.”

We go on as such for a small bit amid other late starters around us, backpacks at their feet, hobbling gingerly up to the bar to order, smiles on tired faces, yammering away in Spanish, French, German, you name it. The Camino has a way of bringing people together, all smiling through our aches and pains.

7:57

There’s no putting it off any longer, the trail awaits us with its seashell way markers and yellow arrows splattered on walls of buildings and the rough pavement.

“The next city isn’t gonna walk towards us.” My dad exclaims as we make our way out the door and our eyes pan the streets hungrily for the familiar signs pointing us towards Santiago. I enjoy the mornings most, we both do. The air is fresh and cool, a breeze pushes us along by our backs, and the sun peaks through the buildings behind us, illuminating the rolling green seas of wheat; our path winds its way through the green while the sky stretches out above us blue and vast. Magnificent.

This morning's departure from Terradillos

8:50

“It’s gonna be a hot one.” I say after a little while of walking. We’ve both already removed our caps and the sun begins to heat up. I’ll need to take a layer off when we get to our first stop.

As usual we stop at a cafe in a village after a little over an hour of walking for our second breakfast. Two more espressos and two tortillas skate out onto the bar for us to take back to our table. A great whap rings in my ears as the woman at the bar stamps our Camino credentials. I take a moment and gaze down at the yellow tortilla on my plate before digging in; a steaming slice of egg and potato cake, fresh out of the microwave.

The tortilla, a pilgrim's lembas bread

Am I ever going to get sick of these things? I ask myself, picking up my fork and cutting off a morsel. You would think so, after eating one every day. I find myself mistaken once again though, scarfing down the still surprising delicious tortilla in one fell swoop.

9:15

With both breakfasts out of the way and my windbreaker off, I settle in for the bulk of the walking that will lead us towards lunch. I spend the next hours talking to my dad about this and that, reflecting by myself on the world, both mine and ours, on my personal challenges and hopeful resolutions. While scurrying ahead down a rocky slope into a valley I happen to hear the familiar ‘bonjour’ from a passing French pilgrim with whom I strike up a small conversation with before we part ways with a mutual ‘buen camino!’

Somewhere out there in the middle of a wheat field or small village littered with yellow arrows we end up passing most of the pilgrims who woke up so much earlier than us who do double takes and flash grimaces as the two Americans roll past them at a steady pace, carrying our packs on our backs and an extra hour of sleep in our eyes.

11:28

With most of the day behind us we pull into one of the final towns before our destination for some lunch and hopefully some shelter from the hot sun that has now climbed her way high in the sky. I stroll up to the bar while my dad rips and tears away his shoes and socks in desperation to let his feet breathe a bit and touch up any adjustments needed with the ever-important medicine cabinet. I return with two sparsely filled chorizo bocadillos and a new stamp in each of our respective credentials. I too hurry to unmask my rank stumps to let them cool in the hot sun.

Bocadillos

The ubiquitous pilgrim's stamp

Our pilgrim's credentials

A taxi pulls up to the side of the bar and a young, very able man tosses his pack into the trunk, waffles around in his wallet for some cash, and excitedly dives into the cab. The driver pulls away, whisking the cheating false-pilgrim off to the next town with no struggle in his body or mind and the only ache coming from his wallet. My dad frowns and makes some comment about cheating the Camino.

11:58

After our pitstop and some foot maintenance we begin the most arduous part of the day: the slog after lunch to our final destination. The beginning of the last slog is fine for the most part. It takes some time to warm the feet back up and for the blisters to stop their burning, but after about fifteen minutes things begin to calm down. But as the sun gets hotter and that last handful of kilometers stretches on and on, the more the spirits weaken and the further and further I trudge ahead of my dad because I’m just so finished.

We do finally pull into the small town at the end, wandering painfully through the sun-baked calles in search of our albergue which we will inevitably blanket with our brilliant pilgrim stench immediately upon crossing the threshold of the front door.

The following hours are spent in our room, groaning and sighing. I try and reflect on the day in partial triumph having finished it, sprinkled with some gratitude that it’s over and an underlying anguish at the physical and psychological fallout remaining from the venture. However, a trip to the facilities and a singe in the shower are all it really takes to feel new again.

3:04

We make our initial scouting report, at times as far as a few blocks up town, today a mere ten paces out onto the front porch of the albergue. Today this report consists of an inspection of the establishment’s brewing facilities, as well as a taste testing of some spaghetti Bolognese, never with the Camino guide book more than an arm’s length away in the event we need a quick glance at our gospel for reference.

A pilgrim's menu

With the time we have before dinner we lay up in the room, listening to music mostly. I write away in my notebook and my dad pedals off on the Camino blog. I try desperately not to nap because I know that will spell nothing good for trying to sleep later.

7:28

We head down to the albergue’s restaurant for the obligatory Pilgrim’s Menu of the night. If you are not a fan of high, elegant cuisine then you have probably not heard of the Pilgrim’s Menu in all its luxury. The menu typically consists of two courses: a starter (I pray to see lentil soup as an option), and then a second course for which I’m obliged by my nature to select the pork chop if available. We sit, once more with book in hand, hastily mashing away at our fine dining. A true pilgrim would never pass on some red wine with his menu of course either.

Tonight's pilgrim's table. Aussies, Irish, and a good ol' guy from San Diego

After dinner we retire to our chambers where two new hospital beds await our return from a late night of partying away with other pilgrims. I check my watch one last time before turning in.

My god it’s already 8:30!

Time to pass into a wrestles pilgrim’s slumber before we get up and do it all again… and then again… etc.