Early morning sounds greet me as I walk through a tiny village.
Birds chattering, church bells calling, babies crying, the soft clinking of breakfast dishes, and soft voices of morning conversation.
Sunday August 25, 2019
Puenta la Reine to Estrella
22 km, 33,000 steps
Most of the path today was packed gravel. Although still tricky, it is the most pleasant of the walking surfaces so far.
Just outside of Puente la Reina, I heard a loud motor-like sound. Thinking it was a drone, I looked up. Here's what I saw:
I amused myself by thinking: "Well that's just not fair!" (See yesterday's post), but I'm sure that travelling the Camino by motorized hang glider will not earn a Compostela (Certificate of completion)!
I'm developing quite a relationship with my walking poles.
I lean on them, and at times they need to lean on me.
They help me at all times, without question or complaint.
They are there whenever I need them, and when I don't need them to work, I carry them.
However if I use them incorrectly, they are quick to bring it to my attention, with a slip or an irritation on the palm pad of my index finger or at the base of my thumb.
My poles and I walked through vineyards. Here, "we" are on the approach to a tiny, very cute hamlet called Ciraqui.
Notice the elevation of the church at the center of town. Surely the route won't take us right to the top, just to lead us right back down. Surely is the right word. It surely did. Dudes, really??
I stopped for a breather there, and sat down with a lovely woman from France. We conversed in French. Talk usually goes like this: Where are you from? Where did you start your walk? Are you going to Santiago?" Sometimes, the next question is: "Are you going on to Finnisterre"? Finnesterre is a place that is right on the Atlantic coast of Spain, about 75km west of Santiago. "Tradition" says that Pilgrims leave their boots there on the beach. I think that's a modern tradition designed to increase Spain's gross national income. But I digress. A German lad heard our conversation and he did ask us if we were going to Finnisterre. The French lady said, in that beautiful French that one only hears from people from France: Je suis soixante treize (I am 73). "Santiago, Kaput". And while she said the word Kaput, she made the universal sign for "completely finished in every sense": She crossed her wrists in front of her chest, hands open and palms down. As she said the work Kaput, she quickly separated her hands to her sides. It was priceless, and we all laughed. If anyone asks me if I'm continuing to Finnisterra, I will say "Santiago, Kaput! just like she did.
A cat in Ciraqui. Could that pose be any sweeter?? (I think not!).
I'm enjoying talking with people from all over the world. Aside from English, I'm able to speak to them in French, German, a little Spanish, and of course the universal language of gesture - all of us are especially fluent in the gestures for "it sure is ridiculously hot" and "dudes, how much farther is the next town"? (That gesture involves on person taking out their phone and opening Google maps, and the other person coming over with a very interested look on their face).
Tunnels are a favorite place to rest and cool off.
Me 'n Aulden from Brandford, chillin' in a tunnel. His wife Heather is taking the picture for me.
I had dinner in one of the squares near my hotel this evening. As I ate, I watched children playing soccer in the square, and listened to the church bells as the sun began to set.
Everyone comes out around 7:00 pm, when the temperature finally begins to drop. Dinner was steak, Portobello mushroom and fried potato wedges. Man, they do a great job with potatoes here. Sorry there's no photo of dinner. It was mostly gone before that thought crossed my mind.
Is anybody reading? Please comment or email so I'll know your with me!
carol.weinberg@gmail.com
Birds chattering, church bells calling, babies crying, the soft clinking of breakfast dishes, and soft voices of morning conversation.
Sunday August 25, 2019
Puenta la Reine to Estrella
22 km, 33,000 steps
Most of the path today was packed gravel. Although still tricky, it is the most pleasant of the walking surfaces so far.
Just outside of Puente la Reina, I heard a loud motor-like sound. Thinking it was a drone, I looked up. Here's what I saw:
I amused myself by thinking: "Well that's just not fair!" (See yesterday's post), but I'm sure that travelling the Camino by motorized hang glider will not earn a Compostela (Certificate of completion)!
I'm developing quite a relationship with my walking poles.
I lean on them, and at times they need to lean on me.
They help me at all times, without question or complaint.
They are there whenever I need them, and when I don't need them to work, I carry them.
However if I use them incorrectly, they are quick to bring it to my attention, with a slip or an irritation on the palm pad of my index finger or at the base of my thumb.
My poles and I walked through vineyards. Here, "we" are on the approach to a tiny, very cute hamlet called Ciraqui.
Notice the elevation of the church at the center of town. Surely the route won't take us right to the top, just to lead us right back down. Surely is the right word. It surely did. Dudes, really??
A cat in Ciraqui. Could that pose be any sweeter?? (I think not!).
I'm enjoying talking with people from all over the world. Aside from English, I'm able to speak to them in French, German, a little Spanish, and of course the universal language of gesture - all of us are especially fluent in the gestures for "it sure is ridiculously hot" and "dudes, how much farther is the next town"? (That gesture involves on person taking out their phone and opening Google maps, and the other person coming over with a very interested look on their face).
Tunnels are a favorite place to rest and cool off.
Me 'n Aulden from Brandford, chillin' in a tunnel. His wife Heather is taking the picture for me.
I had dinner in one of the squares near my hotel this evening. As I ate, I watched children playing soccer in the square, and listened to the church bells as the sun began to set.
Everyone comes out around 7:00 pm, when the temperature finally begins to drop. Dinner was steak, Portobello mushroom and fried potato wedges. Man, they do a great job with potatoes here. Sorry there's no photo of dinner. It was mostly gone before that thought crossed my mind.
Is anybody reading? Please comment or email so I'll know your with me!
carol.weinberg@gmail.com
I'm with you, Sweetheart. You words and pictures help me feel what you feel. (Well, maybe not the heat and sore feet parts.) Remember, your writing will amuse and inspire for years and years. For all your readers, now and in the future, continua por favor.
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