Behind the Albergue Door: Inspiration Agony Adventure on the Camino de Santiago Read Free Page B

days of the Camino and quickly became good friends. The three of us walked together on and off the rest of the way, sharing the good, the bad and the ugly right to the bittersweet end. She wrote a thoroughly amusing blog throughout the Camino and I have taken the liberty of poaching some of her stories for your enjoyment. In return, I have provided her with a coupon for one nice warm hug, to be cashed in at her leisure (not valid on public holidays or during prime time Oprah Winfrey specials).
    The middle part of the Camino is called the Meseta. It’s long and flat, and in the summer unbelievably hot. Everyone talks about it being the most challenging part of the hike because even though it is flat it can be quite boring and so it is considered psychologically demanding. While I was in the Meseta, though, I didn’t think it was so bad. I thought it was kind of a lot of hype. I thought more than once that these hardships must not apply to us fall folk because it is so much cooler this time of year.
    Having come out on the other side of the Meseta and begun the hike to Galicia, I am realizing I was dead wrong. The hiking these days is a completely different animal then the Meseta. If the Meseta was an animal it would be the fat, banal cat your neighbor had. Completely calm. Nothing special to look at. Couldn’t get a reaction out of it if you tried. You spend time wondering how it got fat when it doesn’t seem to move at all. Even to get food. But you soon grow bored of thinking anything about the cat and eventually stop thinking of it completely even though it is still in your presence. Just lying there. Always lying there.
    Then after Leon you meet the most amazing German Shepherd. Tireless. Energetic. Happy. Playful. Something you actually enjoy spending time with. It makes a big difference in how the time pa sses. It’s like I have a permanent companion that makes everything more enjoyable.
    So things are looking up.
    As the full effect of the Meseta begins to wane both into and then out of Leon, another popular rest stop and an excellent city in which to shop for super-glue, the terrain finally starts becoming more and more varied, even if that variety mostly involves stubby little bushes and fields covered in manure instead of just plain old fields. Then ever so gradually the hills start to grow, the ferns appear with more frequency, as do the rocks, until finally you reach Cruz de Ferro, at 1,500 metres the high point of the trek. This enormous pile of rocks with a giant iron cross sticking out the top is traditionally where shattered and dispirited pilgrims leave, in addition to random unwanted items, some particularly meaningful rock that they have been carrying, I suppose, since the start and, wha-paw!, new lease on life. Or so I understand it. I kind of forgot about bringing a rock, or just couldn’t be bothered to add even a few extra ounces to my backpack, I can’t remember which any more, and it seemed a little stupid to just move one from the path to the pile at the last minute like that. So I remained shattered and dispirited, and slowly trudged on.
    From there it was a long and uncomfortable traipse downhill on loose shale and scattered rocks into the valley around Molinaseca and a transition into some serious wine country. Acre upon acre of grapevines as far as the eye can see, all sagging under the weight of their fruity burdens and dazzling in the multi-coloured splendour of autumn. Not sure what it would look like in the summer, although I’m pretty sure you’d be sweating more as you looked at it. Then hills, and more hills, and chestnut plantations, and soaring freeways looming far above tranquil rural scenes straight off the cover of Tiny Spanish Villages magazine. All gradually leading you upward toward the bleak windy ridge featuring O Cebreiro and its vaunted views of valleys on three sides, and a rather grim cemetery on the other.
    After that it’s all downhill, both literally in terms of