Santiago's Botafumeiro

One of the largest incensories in the world, swinging incense smoke on tired (and smelly) pilgrims.

The Camino's end

I made it to Santiago. And what a sight the city was. And everwhere white, pure light - light on the church, on the buildings, on the streets, on pilgrims' faces, and in my heart.

My heart's a drummer

The days go by, and the kilometers accumulate. I escaped the camino Frances in Burgos, walked from Bilbao to Gijon, only to be called back to the camino I started. Experiencing two caminos in one trip has been unique, and an experience I can safely say has been my own, and of my own design completely. Since I somehow deleted a post, I'll try to fill you in again on the things I've learnt on this hard journey. I've learnt that some of the communal bathrooms in the alberges (hostels for pilgrims) could do with a major hose down, but some of the warmest meals I've had have been communal ones with fellow pilgrims; that being woken up at the crack of sparrow's fart by packing pilgrims each morning has been taxing on my mood, but each small Spanish village serves goodcafé con leche to help the journey along. I've learnt that the Spanish sun is merciless, that the heat can be dry and golden, somehow distinctly African; that the flies are persistent; that each province I pass through is fiercely proud of its heritage; that Spaniards love their faith. I've sampled calimocho (coke and red wine) with a Korean, Irish car bombs with a Brazilian, sangria with a German, learnt about black rice paella from a Swede, and that I must burn a personal belonging when I get to Santiago from someone Chinese. I've walked with friars, teachers, students, loners, biologists, oil merchants, managers, actors, singers, engineers, ambulance drivers and property developers, all falling silent with their thoughts at one point in the journey. I've learnt something small from each person I've met, as we all share in this experience and wish each other Buen Camino each morning. I've learnt to be kinder to my myself as I carry my burdens with me each day, but I see the end of each day as an achievement to be proud of. I've realized that I've been bitten more times in two months by bed bugs, spiders, wasps and mosquitos in Europe than in two years in Africa; I've learnt to appreciate the smell of clean laundry, a home cooked meal, and blister-free feet, cheap peregrino (pilgrim) 3 course meals in restaurants, a soft wind when I'm walking, a good laugh with a new friend, a cold drink from a dusty cafe, the quiet and calm I sense when walking in the dark of the coming morning, the view from a mountain I have just conquered. I started off in a bad frame of mind, and this camino has somehow slowly changed it, step by step, for the better.

How the Spanish party, ribbons, napkins, castanets and all

I miss my laptop

I see there is a post missing, one which goes into why I changed caminos. Fml. I will have to update it again at some point. But yes, I'm no longer on the Camino Frances. Went up to do the Camino del Norte. The sad and worn-down towns were making me sad and worn-down. So I went to the ocean for some solace.

The camino up north

These last few days have been quieter, cooler and more beautiful. The camino less travelled. I say hello to the Atlantic ocean if not everyday, then every second day. I walk on beaches and in quiet forests. I see pilgrims with flowers in their hair, sleep a little later because I don't have to rush to the next alberge. I pick plums, peaches and pears directly from trees alongside the route and eat them. There are less facilities for pilgrims here but I imagine it to be as the French way was before becoming popular. I have a very fetching pilgrim's tan, I give donations instead of fixed prices for a bed at night more often than not. I walk alone most of the time and try to quiet my mind. I swim in the refreshing ocean after a long day of walking, where I see women tanning topless. The norm apparently. Lucky me (no photographic evidence just so you know). I eat too much white bread here (check out the bakkie packed to the brim with baguettes), I see local town fiestas with long queues for grilled sardines. Yes, just sardines. Also, I see sunrises over the sea that shake my soul. Niceness.

The way of Saint James

I started my camino journey from St.Jean-pied-de-port at the base of the Pyrenees in France 6 days ago. And I'm broken. It's a 780 odd km pilgrimage on foot to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, and I see new faces everyday. A beautiful experience to meet like-minded travelers all with the same goal, but I can't lie and say it hasn't been testing. And they all say the first 10 days are the worst. I've already learnt in this short time that I packed too much; I hold onto too much; I am stronger than I thought I was; my shoes give me blisters; I have much to learn still; nothing beats a morning sunrise in the mountains; it's better not to try a bush pee on a thorny slope. I've learnt to resist the urge to smother snoring men in the pilgrim dormitories; how to make a tortilla and to ask for a glass of wine in Spanish; that France is hellishly more expensive than Spain but that the flies are more persistent here; that there's merit in a siesta; that strangers have so many interesting stories. As hard as this is, I have so much more to learn still.