Potpourri

BLiSTERS
In my last posting I described the various activities that are part of each day on the Camino. One thing that I didn't mention in detail was blister care.

"Compeed" has the corner on the European market when it comes to blister care. They make excellent blister wraps, that seem to take care of the problem. Every pilgrim checks his feet daily for blisters, as well as putting on cremes (e.g. Vaseline).

I'm hoping that my blister phase is over, but you never can tell.

LAUNDRY
Laundry is a never-ending necessity. Most albergues offer an automatic washing machins, but charge 4€ (almost $6) per load. Highway robbery? Yes, but it beats hand washing! There are dryers available as well, but these are just as expensive. Also, you might have to wait for other pilgrims. Some save up their laundry for a few days and then just pay for a large load. I prefer to do it by hand each day, and then hang it on the clothesline to dry. Of course that only works on sunny or windy days.

ADVERTiSING
The Camino is as commercial-free as it comes, but occasionally there will be some advertising on a small board. Sometimes albergues discreetly offer their services in the preceding town or along the route. One in France was so witty in their publicity that you wanted to stay their just to meet the author.

Sometimes I'll be walking and forget what town that terrific albergue was located in. It's hard to write things down while you're walking.





















THE PATH
In Spain the path is much wider than in France. This is necessary, as the traffic is much heavier. Also, more people bike the path on Spain, so you have to be careful for those two-wheelers who roll by at fast speeds right next to you.







CITIES
Cities are always a challenge, as it's hard to hike through traffic. But cities sell the things you need, like fruit, chorizo and bread, etc. So walking through cities is a mixed thing. There's beautiful architecture in cities, but magnificent nature in the rural parts.


































WILDFLOWERS AND POPPIES
They are everywhere along the Camino. I thing someone hiked the Camino years ago with a bag of poppy seeds that they spread.

There are red poppies EVERYWHERE!



























THE PEOPLE
That's the best part of the Camino! I've met so many people, with such interesting stories.

Below is a Spanish couple that have been walking the same stages as I have:






And here's Davy from Scotland, who is taking a break from teaching English in a school in Spain:






I could write forever about the Camino. Remember, it's a long walk! Suffice it to say it's a pilgrimage where those who are searching hopefully find why they need.

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The Remains of the Day

Usually in my blogs I write about departure times, the weather, what the trail was like, etc. In order not to lose the few people who are still reading this blog, I'm going to change things around a bit, and give a description of a day.

On the Camino, mornings are awful. You might think that the actual hiking would be the worst, but no -- it's the mornings. They stink.

In the individual dorms (that can sometimes hold 20-30 people), mornings are chaos. Starting at 5:45 the noise begins. It's usually a trickle of people at first, but grows into a steady stream. No one can sleep through all of this noise, but some stick fast to their beds until they are kicked out by the management (usually at 8 am).

Many things have to be done before departure (besides brushing one's teeth). Blisters have to be wrapped, Vaseline applied to feet, the backpack has to be packed up, water has to be put into the Camelbak, and the walking sticks remembered.

There are some who really like to hit the trail early. That is smart in summer, as it does get hot. But in spring, there is less heat, so rushing makes little sense.

I like to start a few minutes before sunrise, so I can actually witness God's creation of a new day. Sunrise around here is taking place a little after 7 o'clock at this time.

Since the albergues rarely serve breakfast, I start the Camino for an hour or so, then find a bar in the next town that serves rolls, sandwiches or tortillas (not like the Latin American ones, but like omelets). With that good protein/energy, I'm ready for the day.

There is always something hurting when you walk long-distances. It could be a knee or the back, or (in my case) the feet. There is always the potential for blisters developing, so you have to pay attention. Sometimes things will hurt one day but not another. Sometimes parts of the feet will only hurt for an hour or so. I can't explain it; suffice it to say the body is a mystery.

Somehow God gets us through the pain.

Usually there are one or two big challenges along the way, usually in the form of a big ascent. These are tough, but build up stamina and provide a good aerobic workout.

When you're only 5 km (3 miles) from a town where you want to lodge for the night, your mind starts playing tricks on you. You start thinking as you walk, "Surely this is a lot more than 5 km." And when you can't seer the town in the distance you start thinking, "Could I have walked by that town and not seen it?"

All of this is true!

When you hike through some beautiful mountains, a forest, or even just farmland, you naturally glorify God. Only God could have put this all together. The same goes for smelling tga wonderful scents and flowers of spring.

Beauty is an important part of a human's life. Without beauty, we have consigned ourselves only to what mankind can do. Nature is far more beautiful than what we can build or crate. That's why natural building materials will always look good, while man-made ones won't.

















































Upon arriving at an albergue (hostel) in the afternoon (I like to be done with my hiking for the day around 1 o'clock), there is mich to do. First thing is the all-important shower. The question is: will there be hot water or not? (usually there is). After the shower comes the fun part: doing laundry by hand. This always slows me down, as I hate doing it, even though it was I who dirtied the clothes.

Then it's tome to find space on the clothesline to dry the clothes. Drying clothes on the clothesline can take time, but it's so worth it. I can't believe that we in the States have gotten rid of clotheslines -- it's the natural way! When I was a boy in the 1960s, our backyard was full of clothes on the line. Now, I've been told that some subdivisions outlaw clotheslines. Why? Does it decrease property value to see undergarments on the line?

Don't throw out your dryers, as you'll need them occasionally (wet days and winter). But think about this natural and money-saving way.

Next comes either a nap or the exploration of the city. I can go for either.

Around 7 pm is a Mass for the pilgrims, somewhere in the city, followed by dinner at a restaurant with specially priced pilgrim's menus. The other option, which I chose tonight, is to cook for yourself in the albergue kitchen.

Finally, it's off to dreamland in the albergue dormitory, with many others who snore.


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The Running of the Bulls

The day began extra early at the monastery's albergue in Roncesvalles (Spain). Why? Because there were a whole bunch of nervous pilgrims wondering what the "Real" Camino would be like (crossing the Pyrenees was exceptional).

I entitled this post "The Running of the Bulls" for a number of reasons (as you will see).

It was raining on Monday morning (April 25th)... hard.

The first running of the bulls occurred at about 5:30 am. Since so many were nervous about getting up and starting the Camino, it was bedlam in the dormitory. There were about 125 people lodging there on two floors. By the time 6:30 rolled around, it looked like the running if the bulls at Pamplona. You really had to watch yourself or you'd get hit by a walking staff or just plain run over!

So off they went... I got out around 7:30, and paced myself. Here is what the monastery looked like:





The first thing I thought as I departed was to take things slow and everything would be all right. Good thinking, huh? I had bought better rain gear at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port just for occasions such as these. Hey, maybe Santa is so successful because he just has better rain gear?!

Pilgrims were no doubt daunted by the sign they saw leaving Roncesvalles (I took the photo the afternoon before):





Thank God those numbers on the sign are in kilometers!

Albergues in Spain generally don't serve breakfast, so I was a bit hungry in leaving. I knew that there was a town (Burguete) only 2.5 km away (1.6 miles). Then I remembered that it was the day after Easter, a national holiday in Spain. I finally found an open coffee shop and had a fairly plain croissant. The problem was that where the coffee shop was was also where the Camino turned right. So I did find a sweet roll but I missed the turn and kept walking down the road about a half-mile. I saw some bikers coming my way and called out to them, «¿Esta es la ruta a Santiago?». They yelled back, «¡Si!». But that was the bike route to Santiago, not the pedestrian route. I finally figured out that I was off course and had missed the blue and yellow shell (the route marker). I retraced my steps and finally saw the turn-off. This was coincidental, as I missed a turn on my first day in France as well.

As it rained almost all day, I eventually got wet and cold. But there were so many pilgrims, and everyone was helping each other out that that I couldn't help but feel warm inside.

A couple of times I witnessed the "Running of the Muttons." Some shepherd halted all traffic and had his flock if lamb run to the next pasture.




In case you haven't seen this, lambs don't run very well.

Walking on the trail in the rain was like walking in sludge. At one point I just stopped and looked at all the footprints and thought, "God, how many hundreds of thousands of pilgrims have walked this way before me? How holy this path is!"

The rain eventually stopped, and the sun kind of came out. But there was still lots of walking in wet forests.

By 1:15 I had arrived at Zubiri, and considered calling it a day, but others coaxed me on. So I walked the extra 5 km (3 mi.) to the next town of Larrasoaña for the night. All told, it was a 15.5 mile hike.

The albergue at Larrasoaña was housed in the same building as city hall. The municipal worker who checked pilgrims in no doubt was trained in the Stalinist School of Bureaucracy. Very officious and lacking any humor.

The albergue was in terrible condition, with beds crammed in every which way. But the worst part was how dirty the place was. I felt dirtier AFTER the shower than before!

Some of the people I had met in Roncesvalles were also at Larrasoaña, so it was a nice reunion and we had a pizza dinner together.

The next day, the goal was to walk to Cizur Minor, some 13.9 miles away, via the city of Pamplona.

It was an uneventful day, but it didn't rain and the sun shone.

Walking through Pamplona was strange, as I hadn't been on a city bigger than 15,000 people since mid-March. It was wild to see so many commercial businesses.

I passed by the actual street where the real running of the bulls takes place. Why anyone does that is beyond me (although it was funny in the movie "Cityslickers").

Pamplona is a true Spanish city, with it's Cathedral and municipal buildings all representative of Spanish architecture. It even has a corrida at Plaza del Toros, so you know it's Spanish.

I was so happy to find the central market in the middle of town. Tasting the fresh fruit there (especially the strawberries) was such a delight.

Cizur Minor was only 2.5 miles past the city limits of Pamplona. I stayed at the albergue there, once again with some friends that I had met on the Camino.

The albergue at Cizur Minor was like a resort compared to the one at Larrasoaña. The sun shone brightly and many chose to sunbathe outside the dorms. Everything was so clean and in order there.

Dinner was in a restaurant which served a "Pilgrim's meal." That means that for a set price of about 10€, you get a basic meal and dessert and wine. It's hearty fare, and after a long day of hiking, pilgrims are glad to have it. Unlike the French hostels that offer the meals in-house, Spanish hostels along the Camino de Santiago separate the lodging place from the eating place.

Across the Pyrenees

The last few days have been really difficult. Physically they were difficult because my feet were swollen and I couldn´t hike. Emotionally they were difficult as I missed the beautiful celebrations of the Triduum in my previous two parishes.

On Good Friday and Holy Saturday I hung around the gîte, as my feet wouldn´t allow me to go very far. The proprietors (Jacques and Monique) were nice and let me stay two extra nights (one night is the rule), but I think that I was getting the nickname "Lazarus" around the hostal: the one who was in the tomb three days. We´ll leave the smell out of it.

I kept seeing pilgrims come and go. They were leaving to cross the Pyrenees and there I was staying. It was tough.

Here's a photo of me entering St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port at the Pilgrims' Gate.






Maybe all of this was providential, as on Holy Saturday night I concelebrated the Easter Vigil at the local parish in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port. It was a very nice bilingual celebration (French and Euskera -- the name of the Basque language).

On Easter Sunday morning I knew that had to make the crossing, as cabin fever was taking over. I awoke at 6:00 am and my feet felt really good. I packed up my stuff and ate breakfast with all the other pilgrims at 7 o´clock. Then it was off for the Pyrenees.






To say that the day was full of climbing is an understatement. It was the most climbing that I´ve done in one day (including the French part of the Camino. However, God had prepared me for this day by all the climbs (that I complained about) in the Massif Central of France in the early going of this pilgrimage back in March. If I hadn´t had that, I would have quit today, gone back to St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port and taken a train back to Paris and called it quits.

So today was difficult, but it wasn´t hellish. I basically climbed from 600 feet above sea level to almost a mile above sea level. It was a 16.8 mile hike, Crossing the Pyrenees on the same route as did Charlemagne in the 8th century, Napoleon in the 19th century, and many other notables (quite possibly St. James the Apostle).







At first the weather cooperated very well, and the sun even came out. But then the clouds came and things changed.

It got much colder without the sun, but that could have been because of the wind and the higher altitude. Soon it was raining fairly hard. Fortunately I bought some good rain gear in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port.




There weren't that many directional signs in the Pyrenees, probably to avoid depressing the pilgrims with how far they still had to travel.


Here's yours truly at a fancy directional sign in the Pyrenees.




It is said that crossing the Pyrenees is the hardest of all the stages on the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Well "Alleluia" for that! After all of today's climbs, everything else in Spain must be downhill!

I thank God for all of this, especially my feet feeling well again. I couldn never do it without His grace. This whole pilgrimage is one big miracle playing out.

I haven´t yet plotted out tomorrow´s hike, but will do that this evening. It will have to be easier than today's!

Lichos to St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port

After pushing it hard the last couple of days to cross the Pyrenees Mountains on Good Friday, I discovered something.  The boots that had felt comfortable just days ago now were feeling tight.  Hmmm.  There was no return policy at the store from where I bought them!

The day would be spent entirely in the Basque territory of France (as mentioned in a previous post, most think that the Basque Country only refers to Spain; but there is a Basque Country in France as well.  They all speak the same language: Euskera, and are bilingual with the language of their respective country).

I left Lichos after breakfast, around 7:45 am.  My goal for the day was a farm outside of Ostabat, roughly 18 miles distant.  I don`t know what it is about human nature, but so often we think that if we do things «the hard way» somehow God will love us more.  This is purely Pelagian thinking (a heresy of the early centuries of the Church).  «But I wanted to cross the Pyrenees on Good Friday...»

So I set out.  My first stop was, what I thought was a shortcut through farm grass (it would sqve 15 minutes).  It was a big mistake.  The grass turned out to be 18 inches high.  My pants were soaked by the morning dew, and the fact that I didn`t get bit by a snake is a miracle.  I decided to stick to the authorized routes.

Thanks be to God the trail was pretty flat... but every hour my feet were hurting more and more.

I arrived at Uhart-Mixe (a Basque town; the Basque language is unitelligle to outsiders and the roots of this language are still unclear) and had lunch.  I had a plate of vegetables, so that should cover me for the next six months.  I read the map and saw that I still had 4 miles to go to Ostabat.  Normally, that`s 75-90 minute walk, but with my aching feet...

I continued on, passing by a chapel that was so beautiful (there are dozens of beautiful 11th, 12th, and 13th century etc. chapels along the Camino).  Most of them are even smaller than the 1935 parish church of St. Ann in Smithfield (N.C.).  This one had been redone in the baroque style in the 17th century.  You know what they say: «If it ain`t baroque, don`t fix it.»

I had made a reservation to stay at the farm of Gaineko-Etxea (again, Basque), about a half mile on the other side of Ostabat.  I made it to Ostabat, who had a «special» pilgrims` path entrance to the town made of scattered stones.  I was walking like someone with bare feet on hot sand at the beach, it hurt so much.  They were the 3-6 inch type stones, that just torture the feet.  I thought to myself, this really is the perfect preparation for the Triduum, though I wouldn`t recommend it to anyone.

When I arrived in Ostabat there were signs for the gîte that announced that it was only 800 meters away.  My feet were hurting so bad that I thought, is it a really 800 meters or just a tease to get you to go there, even though it`s farther on down the road?  I was right: it was farther, and on the top of a hill!  But it was worth it.

Arriving there it was nothing but a delight.  It was a beautiful farm and gite, and several of the pilgrims that I had met along the route were there.  At dinner, the host sang songs in Basque and we all joined in (there was also great food and wine).  There was much revelry, because this would be the last night on the Camino in France, as we would arrive at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port the next day, which is the terminus for the Camnio in France.

On Thursday morning (21 April) I left on the final leg of my journey: Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, the last town in France on the Camino de Santiago.  The goal was only slightly longer than 13.5 miles, but my feet hurt every step of the way.  I was wondering what had happened to my boots?  Had they shrunk with the dew on that shortcut that I had taken?  A high school Spanish teacher from Tours (France) helped me by walking with me two miles and talking me through it all.  That`s the thing about the Camino: everyone helps everyone out.

I limped to St.-Jean le Vieux, a town 2.5 miles from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port, and had my usual lunch of bread and dried sausage.  Somehow, through the grace of God, I made it the last 2.5 miles and and arrived at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port.  Walking through the traditional gate that pilgrims have walked through for centuries was a rush.  I was now in the twon proper.  I reflected on finishing 800 kilometers (500 miles) of a walking pilgrimage (the Camino in France) and was now halfway!  Now it was time to cross the Pyrenees and start the Camino in Spain.

I checked into the pilgrim office and got my official stamp.  Then I went to the gîte (the local parish has its own gîte, run by a couple who are «Hospitaliers» -- I don`t think that there`s a word in English that translates «Hospitaliers», but they are lay folks who are comitted to running hostels in which pilgrims lodge.  It`s a calling in-and-of-itself), and got ready for the Mass of the Lord`s Supper, which would be in one hour.  Jacques and Monique are very special Catholic Christians: they warmly receive everyone and cook delicious meals.

I limped to the parish in my flip-flops (fortunately it was only two blocks away) and was warmly received.  I concelebrated the Mass, thinking about the wonderful times that I`ve had celebrating the Triduum in the past.

Upon returning to the gîte, I noticed my feet and discovered what was happening.  My feet had swelled up, making everything so uncomfortable, and causing blisters.  I had pushed myself too hard, and God was telling me to slow down.  I knew that I would need more than just one night`s rest for the swelling to completely go down.

So I would not be able to cross the Pyrenees on Good Friday (my time), but rather probably on Easter Sunday (God`s time).  It was providential that all this happened, as now I could rest at the gîte in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port.

Dinner on Thursday night was excellent -- it was kind of like the United Nations around the long supper table.  South Korea, Japan, Norway, The Netherlands, France, Spain and the USA were represented.  We were seated so that everyone could speak with someone else.  It was a wonderful time.

What have I learned making the Camino in France?  Well, through this halfway point of the Camino I have learned that God very much is in charge.  He presents us with «opportunities», not «difficulties», and is always with us.  Life is a roller coaster ride, and God is the only safety bar.  He will always provide, but perhaps not in the way that we expect, but always better than we expect!  When life throws us a curve ball, God uses that to allow us to grow, and understand His goodness and wisdom through it all.

Also, we are never alone.  God is always with us.  We march toward heaven in the company of many others.  The saints in heaven are cheering us on, and we are providing heroic witness and courage for others by our actions through grace.

In short, I have reconnected with God and I feel wonderful about it!  It`s what I wanted most of all.

As I write this blog it is Holy Saturday morning.  My feet look like normal (on Thursday they looked like one of those latex gloves that your dentist uses, but only blown up like a balloon!).  So, God willing, I will cross the Pyrenees on Easter Sunday morning.  As you go to Mass at the Easter Vigil or on Easter Sunday morning, please pray that I make this crossing successfully, as I will have to ascend almost one mile during a hike of seven hours (17 miles).  It`s really almost straight up.

One of the ladies staffing the pilgrims`office in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port told me: «Don`t worry: everyone makes it.  We have never had to pick up any dead bodies in the Pyrenees!»

Pomps to Lichos (via Sauvelade)

I left Pomps and headed southwest (just like every day).  Since I really wanted to cross the Pyrenees Mountains on Good Friday, I decided that I had better step up the pace.  Perhaps it was because I had seen God`s wonderful creation of the mountains that I had extra energy.  So I decided to walk all the way to Sauvelade, an 18-mile journey.

I usually call for reservations beforehand, as it guarantees a place.  There`s nothing worse than being denied a spot when you arrive hot and exhausted, and have to walk another five kilometers to the next gite.  I tried to make a reservation at the gite next to the former abbey, but it was all full.  They recommended a place in the surrounding countryside.

I walked a great distance (probably too much -- I always know that I have walked too far when I arrive at the gite after 5:00 pm) and arrived at the former Abbey of Sauvelade.  I believe that there`s more former (closed) abbeys in France than active abbeys in the USA.  The Abbey of Sauvelade was still impressive, even though several hundered years old.  I assumed the gite at which I was staying would be very close.  Wrong again!  I was happy to see directional signs for my gite and fill my Camelbak with water.

Of course you had to bet that getting to the `Gite Nadette`would require a long uphill cimb.  So I ascended and ascended... I really thought I was just about to touch the sky, the altitude was so high.  After several turns and rest breaks, I finally arrived at the gite (it was all uphill) and was greeted by Nadette.

Nadette (Bernadette) was full of life, and had grown up in the area.  She had pretty much restored the 200-year-old farmhouse in which she was living by her own two hands.  It was a beautiful place, with the perfect balance of the old and the new.

I was the only pilgrim that night.  I was happy about that, as it allowed me to have a private `tutorial`en francaise with the proprietor.  This is a very economical way to have `full immersion`in the French language.

The afternoon sun was intense, so I did laundry and hung it on the line to dry.  Nadette was preparing a grand dinner.  She was adding pilgrim space on to her house, and had just added a pool.  What a wonderful spot to relax after a long hike.  The patio had a perfect view of the Pyrenees Mountains in the distance.

Dinner was delightful, full of healthy food.

The next morning I departed for Lichos.  It would be a 16-mile trek, all told.  Again, my body (the way it is) can probably best stand about 13-14 miles of walking per day.  Anything extra `taxes`the system.  However, I was trying to make the Pyrenees crossing by Good Friday.

The morning was rather uneventful, passing by hundreds (literally) of cows across many farms.  Whenever I pass I am surprised how much the cows stare at me.  I think that I would rather eat grass or hay than stare at myself!

I stopped in the town of Navarrenx for lunch and to check messages on the internet.  As you can tell, `Navarrenx`doesn`t sound like a French word.  It`s in the Béarn, which is a region of France with a proud heritage.  In Navarrenx I ran into some people with whom I had been hiking before.  That`s another great thing about the Camino: you make friends with fellow hikers quickly, as you have to help each other along the Camino.

The sun was hot and really beating down on me in the afternoon.  I have pretty much determined that the morning is the time to walk (duh!).  Being done by 1 or 2 o`clock is optimal.  Also, I`m slow as a snail after eating lunch.  Some would say that I`m slow as a snail even before lunch.

I finally crawled into Lichos about 4 o`clock.  It was a tiny town (about 150 residents), but there was confusion where the gite was located.  I even stopped to ask and the people didn`t kno.  That`s frustrating.

I finally found it and was warmly received.  The Gite Montalibet was run by two retired Parisians (husband and wife team), with a spotlessly clean gite.  Again, I was the only one there that night, so I had this private apartment all to myself.  The proprietors even stocked the mini-fridge with orange juice and cold water.  I was in heaven.

At dinner I was served another gourmand meal, and had (what I call) a private tutorial in French (just regular table talk) for 90 mnutes.  It was so much fun. 

As I went back to the apartment for sleep, I thanked God for all the joy (and suffering) of the Camino.  It has never been easy, but it has been so worthwhile.  I also thanked God for all those who have supported me in their prayers, and all those who have welcomed me so warmly into their homes and gites.

Only God could have arranged all of this.  I praise His glory and majesty.

We Must Ascend So That We Can Descend

The title of this post indicates the way I felt about the hike on this day.  Lots of hills and valleys.  It was almost as if we were climbing just so that we could descend.  And as mentioned before, often the descents are harder on the legs than the ascents.

It was another custom-ordered day: sunny, with highs in the mid-70s.  Ideal hiking weather.

I hiked with the German couple (Christian and Margret) and a twenty-something Japanese woman (Sathi).

About two hours into the hike, Margret mentioned that the Pyrenees were in sight.  I looked and saw them.  They were even more magnificent than I had anticipated.  They were so noble and strong-looking.  I couldn`t believe that I could see them from so far away.  nly God could create something so beautiful.

I spent the night at the community gite in Pomps.  Pomps is a very small town (maybe 100 residents).  The gite was very hard to locate, as it was hidden behind the community (sports) center.  When I arrived I was the first one there.  All the doors were unlocked, and everything appeared to be in working order.  I also spied a washing machine with laundry soap.  I should mention here that finding this combination is gold to a hiker on the Camino.  At most every hostel I have to do my own laundry, quickly washing (with soap), rinsing and wringing everything out in a washtub, then hanging things on a line, hoping that they`re dry by the evening.  But using a washing machine is so much easier.  What a luxury it is to have washing machines!

So I took a shower and waited for the washing machine to finish the load.  When finished I then hung the clothes out on the line.  Still, no one was there.  I was beginning to think that this was a `self-service`gite!  Finally another man (Frank, from England) showed up.  Then others came.  So this quiet gite was now hopping with life.

Aside: Frank told me that along the route he had encountered a gite that had a gite sign out front but was all locked up.  He and a fellow pilgrim finally entered by climbing through a window.  It was only when he had left the next morning did he discover from the neighbors that the gite had been closed for some time!

Back to the story: But there was a problem: the person who was supposed to cook the meal didn`t arrive.  This didn`t really bother me, as I had bread and dried sausage to tide me over (as well as sufficient fat in my stomach).  But when the mayor`s wife came to collect the money and found this out, she was upset.  She called the proprietor of the town`s only grocery store (which was closed, since it was Sunday), and asked the owner to open up for the four pilgrims needing to eat.

Within 15 minutes we had a dozen eggs, mushrooms, and ham.  Add to that some bread and wine and we had a feast of ham and mushroom omelettes!  It was great fun cooking with Benedique, Michel, and Frank.

This is one of the great things about France: you never know what you`re going to get, but when it arrives, it`s always btter than you expect!

Nogaro to Arzacq-Arraziguet

As you can tell from the title, neither town name sounds very French.  In fact, I have entered the Region of Béarn, which has its own linguistic tradition and culture.  It- will be different still when I enter the Basque Country of France.

The hiking between these two towns was flat and (sorry to say) boring.  There were a lot of long straightaways, passing by farm after farm.  All told, I must have passed by over 1,000 farms since I started this Camino.

A couple of highlights stand out.  In leaving Nogaro at 7:45 in the morning, I saw a parts truck arrive at an auto-repair garage.  The garage was closed, so the driver went to a neighbor and knocked on his door.  The neighbor opened his bedroom window (with his pajamas on).  The driver asked where the owner of the garage was.  The neighbor knew, and the driver started his truck and headed for the owner's house.  I wonder what would have happened in the States?

Second, I stayed at the hostel in Aire sur l'Adour.  The proprietor there was a man (André) who had made the Camino eight (yes 8) times.  So he had walked 8,000 miles on the Camino all told.  That has to be a record.  He and his wife (Odalie) run the gîte as a real ministry to pilgrims.  In fact, they were looking for a house on the Camino so that they could open a gîte.  He was a former paramedic who is now full-time into caring for pilgrims.

On of the things that André does is offer to inspect pilgrims' feet for blisters.  He checked mine and so compassionately treated a blister.  It was like Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.  What an incredible act of love!  A great reminder of Jesus' love for this Holy Week.

Éauze to Nogaro

Each day of the Camino the terrain is different. Most every day the hiker passes through a forest, many farms, valleys and some hills. The signs tell us that we have passed through a number of French regions. As mentioned before, gone are the mountains and most of the hills. The land now is rather flat, with an occasional ascent or descent (mostly when arriving or departing from villages).

Thursday, April 14th, brought mostly flat land. I left the gîte early and hiked mostly alone. I find that to be the most conducive to prayer and reflection.




After 7 miles I arrived at Manciet. This town, like many French towns, had a tiny grocery store. It's funny: in the USA, the grocery stores are huge, but it can be hard to find what you're looking for. In small-town France, the grocery stores are tiny, but you can find just what you need.





I ate my usual lunch of dried sausage (really pepperoni) and bread, with an apple for dessert. Then it was back to the trail.

This was a relatively easy day: only 12.5 miles to walk.





Along the way I saw a little sign informing me that I was passing the Greenwich Meridian. You can find out more about this online, but at the point I was due south (same latitude line... Or is it longitude?) as Greenwich, England, which is at 0°. This adds credence to my post that the French are living in the wrong time zone. They should be on the same time as England, not one hour ahead





I eventually made it to Nogaro, which has a great community gîte (hostel) on the edge of town, in a sporting complex. The people there were all very nice. Dinner was a great time, because we all cooked and shared what we had. There were multiiple languages and countries represented.

In Nogaro I saw an advertisement for a bullfight… then I saw a Corrida. This shows you how close we are to Spain.




I attended a bullfight (my first and last) in Madrid in 1984. I think a bullfight is animal cruelty, because the bull has to die for the matador to win.

Anyway, as I get closer to the Spanish border the culture is gradually changing. Even the names of the towns look more and more Spanish.

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Dog-Day Afternoon

We left Larressingle after breakfast (Christian, Margret and myself), and headed for Éauze, some 17.6 miles distant.

Soon the three of us had a fourth: a dog who looked like a lab mix. This golden dog started to follow us.

He looked in good shape, like someone was taking care of him. We were certain that he would soon turn round, but he didn't. We did everything we could to shoo him away, but still he followed. He had so much energy, bounding hills, crossing streams, and running all around.

The German couple was certain that the dog would turn around. I knew that we had a friend for life.

The day was fairly uneventful. The last few days we have been running into more and more other pilgrims on the route. Dare I say that hiking season in France has begun.





We arrived in Montréal-du-Gers to buy provisions for lunch and to eat. The dog faithfully followed us. It became a problem in the city, as cars barely missed hitting him. People yelled at us, as if he were our dog.

After lunch, it was a long walk to Éauze. The dog continued to follow, until he became more interested in a female. But all told, he followed us a full 15 miles. I doubt if he was able to find his way home, poor guy.

The last ten days or so we have heard jet fighter planes in the skies. When we hear them, we assume they're heading for Libya, probably only 60-90 minutes from where we were (considering their speed). Someone said they had spotted British fighter planes earlier. I don't know, but hopefully peace is coming to that country.





The final stretch of the day's hike was walking over firmer railroad tracks. The tracks have been removed because there wasn't enough traffic to warrant train service. This is the gold standard for hiking. The ground is dirt, without rocks, and since trains don't like going up hills, it is flat as a pancake. It is a delight hiking on former railroad right-of-ways.

It was eery, though, passing by former train stations which are now empty buildings. I thought of all the activity that they once had. No more.





We finally made it to Éauze. I was really dragging, and barely had the energy to get to the hostel, get cleaned up and go to bed.

Two Rainy Days

Before people think that my blog is basically a Rick Steve's tour of
southwestern France, let me emphatically say that it's not!

Walking the Camino is very hard. Every day the hiker has to deal with tired, sore feet, a sore back, a heavy backpack, staying at a
different place each night, bed bugs, finding stores closed, not finding things you need in a store when it's open, snoring in hostels, poorly marked trails (on occasion), getting lost, having the gîte all full when you arrive in an exhausted state, etc., etc.

I am not looking for your sympathy... I would gladly do this all again. Rather, I want to make sure that everyone knows that this is not a gourmand trip through France and Spain.

I also want to say that amidst all the inconveniences, the Camino has brought so much joy to my life. God has put together a marvelous collection of people, places, nature, and spiritual
opportunities… just for me! At times I have detested the walking, the hills, the rocks, the foot pain -- but the simple joys that I have taken from it more than make up for it.

On Monday morning (March 11), I left the rectory in Lectoure. It was already sprinkling, so I knew there would be problems. The goal for the day was La Romieu, a town noted for it's 13th century cloister and church. It would be an 11.8 mile day, which is very doable.



It wasn't that the rain was hard, it was just omnipresent. The rain
gets you wet on the outside and perspiration gets you wet on the
inside. So you are wet all over. It's also hard to stop for a break on these wet days, because then the perspiration makes you cold. So it's best to keep moving.

I was hiking with Christian and Margret from Germany. As I
mentioned before, we keep about the same pace.

It stopped raining about Noon and the sun came out. That helped matters greatly. What also helped was them offering me cookies and candy.

Whenever I see the sun I give thanks and praise to God. The spring sun feels especially therapeutic on the body.

Christian and Margaret have taught me the value of taking breaks... even taking a nap on the trail. Try it: it's a great thing!

Regarding cookies and candy, I stand on principle. I won't buy cookies or candy on the Camino de Santiago, but I also won't turn them down if offered. Maybe I get offered a good amount because people see me drooling over the sweets?



Anyway, we finally made it to La Romieu and decided to stay on a gîte next to a prune farm. One of the benefits was free prunes inside!

We took in this wonderful village. The gardens alone make this a
worthwhile stop. The church with its cloister were not as historic or beautiful as the one at Moissac, but it held its own.






We had dinner at a restaurant in town. My jacket was still damp, so I felt cold. How wonderful to see the fireplace in the dining room. It was perfect.

The next day (Tuesday) our goal was Larressingle, an excellent example of a fairly intact medieval walled city. Some have called it a smaller version of Carcassonne, without all the tourist traffic.

It rained all morning, making the 13-mile trek especially difficult.
Along the way I read small signs advertising various nearby gîtes. I would have loved to stop at them all, just to get warm, but onward we walked.

For rain gear I have a cover for my backpack (a good one) and a rain jacket (not so good). I'm praying for good weather.

It stopped raining in the early afternoon and God gave us the gift of some sunshine. We arrived at Larressingle around 3:30, just in time to check into the hotel. Christian and Margret got a hotel room, while I lodged in the less expensive dormitory area (there was no one else there). The hotel staff showed my room to another guy, but one look at my laundry soaking in the sink changed his mind.




We toured the walled city of Larressingle. People are allowed to live in the town and also in the wall, which must be a real treat.
The beauty of the church, was extraordinary. It was built in the Romanesque style, which is my favorite architecture for a church. There is such a noble simplicity about the Romanesque style.
In fact, I saw several architectural elements that I wish I had
incorporated in the church that was built in Clayton-Smithfield (St. Ann).




After touring the walled city, we went back to the hotel for supper. I chose a delightful salad with duck meat, followed by lasagna. Very good. The dessert was the traditional crème brûlée, which always puts a smile on my stomach.

Then it was back to the dormitory. There was a big gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. I filled it with a towel. Good thing, as there was no heat in the room, and it was cold outside.

St.-Antoine to Lectoure

The morning started off with a surreal feeling. The previous night's storm had ushered in a different weather pattern and so a grey, cool and overcast landscape had replaced the beautiful, sun-drenched, rolling hills. Everything pointed to rain (even the smell) but somehow it wasn't raining when I started on the trail.






This day's hike would be 14.6 miles, with hills, forests, valleys and small towns all mixed in.

All of these little towns have churches, but few have priests. The town of St. Antoine has a gorgeous church, but a priest comes around only every other month to celebrate Mass. This is not uncommon on small-town France. It's also very sad.

I made my way to Flamerens. Now you've heard of people losing their head. Well, this church lost its roof. Apparently in 1986 the south wall collapsed, and did significant damage to the edifice.













However, the foundation is good, so it will eventually be restored, but coming up with the money and artisans will take aome doing. This is a small town with few resources. They have relied on the French Boy Scouts to do a lot of clearing of the rubble.

After leaving this town, it started to rain. Again, hiking in the rain is no pique-nique. Fortunately it wasn't cold. I stopped in the town of Miradoux to buy provisions [namely a carrot (so I could better read the trail maps), some dried sausage, carbonated water and two apples].

Whenever you see a grocery that is open, you have to take advantage and get what you need, even food for three days hence.

I mix the fizzy water with regular tap water. Some of the water tastes funky, so jazzing it up a bit does wonders.

I stopped at the town of Castet-Arrouy for lunch. There were no restaurants there, mind you, but only a pique-nique bench outside of the church. Fortunately it had stopped raining by then and the bench was dry. My dried sausage and baguette sandwich tasted superb!

Then began the final stage of the day's hike: the last 6 miles to the village of Lectoure. It semed to take forever. I thought that I was walking in circles, but there was a plan.












The last two miles were spent just getting into the the village, as it has quite a long approach.

I checked into the gîte, which is actually a working rectory. It was so neat to stay there, and see how the priest and staff offered hospitality to everyone, no matter what faith tradition. The rectory was huge, and there were plenty of parts that I never saw, but it housed two priests (the pastor, Père Marc and a retired priest, Père Pierre), a cook, and several pilgrims and other well-wishers.

Touring the beautiful Cathedral of St. Gervaise, I once again ran into Christian and Margret from Germany. They had left St. Antoine later, so I didn't see them during the day. They were staying at a different gîte in Lectoure.

Lectoure is no longer a diocese, but does have a cathedral. How is this possible? Well, once a church is dedicated as a cathedral, it always keeps that dignity. Just like once you are baptized you can never be "un-baptized."

The Diocese of Raleigh will probably be building a new cathedral within the next five years. But the old cathedral (Sacred Heart) downtown at Hillsborough and McDowell streets will maintain its dignity as a cathedral.

All those staying at the rectory-gîte had supper together in the dining room. We sang our grace (a well-known Camino hymn entitled "Ultreia") and enjoyed the great food, wine and company.

It was a very warm ending to a chilly day.

Moissac to St.-Antoine-du-Pont-d'Arratz

After spending two nights in Moissac (buying the hiking boots made me stay the extra time), I finally departed as the monastery clock was chiming 8 o'clock am.

A farmer's and flea market was setting up in the town square. That gave me a chance to buy two apples. France doesn't have the waxed, pristine-looking "red delicious" apples that you find in the supermarket. Rather, they have smaller, round ones, that simply taste great.

There has never been a hiking departure from a town easier than Moissac. All you had to do was follow the canal towpath due west for 10 miles. Nothing could be simpler or more beautiful. The garden club of Moissac must have been preparing for my visit because the towpath was loaded with yellow and white flowers, as well as trees lining the towpath.







This brought back memories of 2005, when I biked the C&O Canal from Cumberland, Maryland to Georgetown (Washington, D.C.). The C&O Canal is more historic, though it's no longer in working order.

I stopped and took an early lunch break, just to admire God's handiwork in creation. I had my usual: dried sausage and a quarter-baguette. I cut the sausage and the bread with my "Leatherman" -- I knew that it would come in handy for something!

Here are sone more photos of the canal towpath.











I prayed a rosary amidst the joy and beauty of being able to walk this gorgeous Saturday morning. And of course the added bonus was that because it was a canal, It was flat as a pancake. It was the easiest stretch of the entire Camino in France. I didn't even break a sweat!

But all good things must end, no? The first 9 miles were like heaven... the final 9 miles would be like... well, you get the picture.

After leaving the towpath, the midday heat set in. Then it was time to head for the hills. The town of Auvillar was especially steep. I don't know how people can walk in these towns built on such steep hills. The towns are beautiful and all, but the hike leaves you breathless.

I'm really glad that I came upon these directional signs, as I was really confused along the way.




During the hike, I came across two Germans on the route, Margret and Christian. They were about my age and spoke English (I hadn't heard English for days). They were going as far as I was.

After a really long walk, I came to the town of Saint-Antoine-du-Pont-d'Arratz. The town's name just means, "St. Anthony of the Bridge of Arratz (which is a river). There was the gîte for the night.

The gîte offers a meal through a restaurant about 100 yards away. There were about seven pilgrims at the gîte and we all had a great meal together at the same table, speaking both English and French (and a little German).

Following dinner, a storm rose up like the one on "The Wizard of Oz". The wind was howling and blowing. I think I saw Auntie 'Em head into the storm cellar! Anyway, we all got indoor safely, but we heard the wind during the night. It howled as much as at the "House in the Wilderness" last month.

All-in-all, a great day.

BTW, in case you were wondering, France is really into nuclear power.
















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