Month: October 2018

At 4,934 feet above sea level on a windswept site stands a fifty-foot tall pole with a plain iron cross on top, the Cruz de Ferro. Tradition has it that when you travel to this iron cross, you should lay a rock at its base as a token of love or as a symbol of laying aside your burdens.

The weather report last night promised rain, the first time since we’ve been on our Camino that we’ve had to brave wet weather. This morning we hauled our ponchos out of the very bottoms of our backpacks and braced ourselves for a soaking. Rather than wear boots and suffer wet feet for days, we donned wool socks and Tevas or Oboz.

By the time we reached the Cruz de Ferro about seven miles into our sixteen-mile day, wind-driven rain had pelted us. and we’d had a headwind most of the way. Still, we took several minutes to say some silent words of prayer as we laid our stones at the base of the monument.

Judi had chosen three rocks:

• a black chunk of slag (a by-product of the iron-ore process). It reminded her of going to her home in Escanaba, Michigan. She found the rock by the municipal dock in front of the House of Ludington, formerly a famous hotel and landmark.
• a jagged red piece of rock found at the Iron Mountain Iron Mine in Michigan. It represents to her reconnecting with family and creating new memories.
• a piece of pink granite found on Hunter’s Beach in Acadia. This one represents Judi’s and my intention to do the Camino together.

My rock was also a piece of pink granite from Hunter’s Beach. In addition to it representing our friendship, I dedicated it to my stepfather, Michael Tessman who passed away on October 2nd at the age of 96, while Judi and I were on our Camino.

Not long after we left the site of the Cruz de Ferro, the sun appeared and created a splendid rainbow.

Our day of hiking ended in our crossing a medieval bridge into the little town of Molinaseca. Tomorrow the countdown begins: only ten more days of walking until we reach Santiago.

What are the memories we’ll carry with us after this Camino journey is done? Yes, the early morning departures, the dome of heaven full of stars, and us finding our way in the dark. Yes, the stunning architecture of the huge cathedrals in Pamplona, Logrono, and Burgos, and the countless humble stone churches of the small villages. And, yes, the feelings of relief and exhaustion after the day’s hike of nearly seventeen miles.

For both Judi and me, however, the kindness of strangers stands out as heart-warming and unforgettable.

There was the man in Logrono during the height of the San Mateo wine festival who was obviously on his way to work at 4:30 in the morning when Judi and I were trying to find our way out of the city. Merry-making revelers still filled the streets, and the street signs were few and hard to coordinate with our guidebook city map. This kind man took considerable time (and patience) to give us accurate directions to leave the city and find the Camino.

Then there was the bicycle rider, a man about our age in the requisite high-tech spandex, on the outskirts of Burgos. Judi and I were finishing a long perimeter road around the airport, tired of tramping along the rocky road in a featureless area. He stopped next to us, hopped off his bike, and motioned for Judi to give him one of her hiking poles. In the dust of the road he drew a map and explained in rapid-fire Spanish. We caught the words “rio” and “Camino” and “fuente.” We were able the find our way past a fountain to a beautiful tree-lined path next to the river.

And Fernando in the picture above who walked with us for a couple of miles and told about teaching in a tiny town outside of Burgos. Good timing made it possible for Judi to capture a picture of both of these gentlemen on the biker’s return trip from the airport road to the city.

An elderly lady in Burgos walked three or four blocks out of her way to direct us to the bus station when we asked her for directions. We were so close, but the station was poorly marked and we had probably walked by it twice.

And the ticket seller at the Bilbao metro station took a special interest in whether we found the correct train. After we bought our tickets, we descended the stairs to the platform below his office. Every time a new train approached, he came out of his office to motion, “Not this one!” “Two more trains before yours!”

The openness and willingness to help us warmed our hearts.

 

This afternoon I received the sad news that my stepfather, Michael Tessman, passed away yesterday at the age of 96. To say that he had lived a full life would be an understatement. He served in the United States Army during some of the key battles of World War II, in northern Africa, Italy, and north into other parts of Europe as the war finally drew to a close.

After he raised his two daughters, Ginny and Sharon, he was widowed, but later met and married my mom, and enjoyed over thirty years of marriage with her. They enjoyed their years of camping, boating, cross-country skiing, and fishing until finally he sold his farm and they moved to Augusta. Lately, he has been a patient at the Maine Veterans’ Home where he received good care.

Before I left for the Camino, I considered long and hard what I would do if he passed away while I was gone. My mother and sisters said that in no way should I come back. Still, my heart is heavy, and I would have loved to support my mom, Ginny, Sharon, Ron, Dawn, and Melody, and, of course, my family in this sad time. We loved him, and I will always miss “Grandpa Michael.”

Tomorrow we will travel to Terradillos de los Templarios, another chance to  appreciate the sublime peace and quiet of the meseta.

P.S. Quick update: We have walked about 239 miles and will reach the halfway point of the Camino, Sahagun, in just a couple of days. As our fellow peregrina from Australia would say, “Good on you!”

 

 

After the quiet of several days of hiking in the open spaces of agricultural land, approaching a big city can be daunting. First, it’s hard not to feel out of place with our heavy packs and dusty shoes among the business men and women or the sprucely dressed weekend tourists.  Our determined looks as we go about finding the municipal albergue so we can, at last, put down those heavy packs set us apart.

But, after check-in and freshening up with a shower and clean(ish) clothes, we’re outside once more to see the sights.

Here are some of the delights from Burgos and our quick bus trip to visit our friends Ruben and Rebekah in the northern Spain.

Of course, our favorite pictures from Bilbao were of Ruben and Rebekah and their beautiful girls, Haizeah and Alba. Rebekah grew up in Candia and married the handsome Ruben who is from Bilbao and completing his Ph.D.

 

 

 

 

 

Santo Domingo de la Calzada, Belorado, St. Juan de Ortega, Hornillos del Camino, Castrojeriz

The little towns are so similar: a cluster of sand-colored buildings tucked into a small valley, a church bell tower and steeple jutting skyward, cobblestoned streets, outdoor cafes with tables for four, little mixed-breed dogs wandering and marking the corners of a building with a salute. Every town we enter, though, delights us. We feel transported back to the days when much earlier pilgrims passed these same buildings. They must also have been glad for some refreshment or a simple place to rest for the night.

Each town, though, has its own special delights.

In Hornillos del Camino, for example, is the Green Tree, a restaurant that specializes in fresh, delicious vegetarian food.

It is a place that attracts interesting people: a masseuse who offers her massages for a donation and has lived in ashrams and has studied yoga in India, a local woman who loves to sing the music of Edith Piaf, and an Italian girl who created poetry for the restaurant door.

The owner herself has a story. On a Camino pilgrimage through Hornillos, she fell in love with a Spanish man, and, as she says, “We made a baby.” She later relocated from her native Ireland to raise her child with her Spanish husband and open her restaurant.

After Judi and I had enjoyed vegetable curry at the Green Tree, Judi took advantage of the offer and had a long massage. The massage therapist told her, when Judi asked where she had been born, that she had been born in the universe. Judi said that the woman recited gentle, wise sayings as she performed the massage.

Judi later came back to the albergue more relaxed than she had been in days.

I also was seeking rejuvenation and went to the pilgrim service at the church adjacent to our albergue. When I entered the sanctuary, the rich baritone voice of the priest bounced off the vaulted stone ceilings as he chanted. Only one other person was there, a pilgrim deep in prayer, his head resting on his folded hands on the back of a plain wooden bench. Minutes passed, more pilgrims filed in and sat down, and the priest finished his chanting. Smiling and seeming glad to see so many of us, he motioned us to sit in the very front pews. “Tu pais?” he asked each of us….”Which country?” Australia, Korea, Germany, Canada, the United States, Spain, Italy, Denmark, we told him.

The priest, dressed in the whitest vestments, turned and scurried to find papers of translations of the pilgrim prayers and benedictions, his green-trimmed cape billowing out behind him. He called on us to read the words asking God for our safe arrival in Santiago.

To my surprise, the priest said, “Sing a song from your country,” and pointed to members of the congregation. In spite of our initial embarrassment, many of us sang familiar songs, mostly religious, the acoustics enhancing our less than stellar voices. In honor of that day being my father’s 96th birthday, I swallowed my pride and sang a verse of the hymn “This is My Father’s World,” one of my dad’s favorites. It was the perfect birthday remembrance of my father.

After the priest spoke the last benediction, he gathered us together like old family in front of the church for group pictures and then offered to stamp our pilgrim credentials and attended to each of us separately. With a broad smile, he stamped my credential, placed his large, strong hand firmly on my head, and recited a short prayer. He then drew the sign on the cross with his thumb on my forehead. What a caring, warm gesture.