Whatever you can do, or dream you can; begin it. Boldness has genius power and magic in it. Goethe Always have loved that quote. How utterly true it is. Watched my older by sixteen months brother decide to go to Vienna in order to study Doshinkan Karate with the world master; this happened when he just graduated from high school. He told me something similar to Goethe's words. If a person sets their mind on some goal, leans into it, wills it to happen, creates it out of thin air, it will happen. He left shortly thereafter, having saved some money he received from graduation gifts, money from his job as an orderly at a retirement home, and did not leave Vienna to return to the US for two years. He worked as an illegal immigrant, lived in a two room apartment with eleven polish nationals! whatever it took. I learned much from this.
My decision to come to Spain and to walk the five hundred miles of the Camino de Santiago has also been one of these 'begin it' maneuvers in life. A relatively desperate period, my relationship suffering from sustained behaviors that result in mistrust and separation, relentlessly undermining the almost decade of working to build trust--like building a sand castle below the high tide mark and continuing, day after day, year after year, to just 'think positively,' to 'build faith little by little' that this time the ocean waves won't wash it away. My kids leaving the nest. The small town I have lived the majority of my life feeling like a foot locker that I stuff myself into every day while dreaming of the wide world around that I have yet to see. And so, the Camino becomes this magical escape pod, all I need to do is to push the little red button, and 'Whoosh!' I am jettisoned into the atmosphere of a new and distant world, touchdown but a few months away. Surely, I have told myself over and over, I will make a solid landing, things will be anew again, and I shall have that chance to do things over, to shape my world into one of my choosing.
Today was kind of a day where I needed to invest myself into this concept, this idea of willing myself forward, willing myself above and beyond and through a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. My foot is healing, but given that I have used it to walk about eight, then twelve, and then about thirteen and a half miles the last three days respectively, it is not exactly feeling bueno to do so. It gets stiff in the morning, then when we begin to walk, it loosens up after about ten to fifteen minutes, trying to keep as normal a stride as possible in order to lessen the potential soreness or damage to the other parts of my lower half that need to compensate. You should see the number of people who limp around in flip flops after getting into their albergue each afternoon. It is a common reply when meeting another caminero now. "How's your Camino going? " "Oh, good," they say, "But, you know, my foot..." And they usually point down, sort of pull their foot up a bit to indicate which one. Thankfully there are, as you may imagine, after twelve hundred years of tending to camineros, many farmáciias along the route.
Strange, fascinating, a bit surreal to be walking through the land, and former Kingdom, of Castles and the Lion, Castille y León. We walked up to and through a terrific arch over the Way today. In a pinched spot between the edge of a steep hill and a small river sit the ruins of an old monastery. A completely unreal archway, the Arcó de San Antón, connected the monastery to the church there (no longer standing). The monastery was originally constructed in the twelfth century as a pilgrim's hospital run by the Orden de Los Antonianos. This specific order was famous for its ability to cure what was known as St. Anthony's fire, a disease similar to leprosy. It usually resulted in death. Also closely associated with the Orden de Los Antonianos was the 'T'shaped cross, known as the Tau, the nineteenth letter of the Greek alphabet, a carved version of which was provided by the monks to perigrinos as protection from sickness and evil.
It was impressive to see this arch as we approached it from a distance, like, 'what IS that?' And standing inside the arch itself? A really large Wow! The carved figures, about ten inches in length, that lined the moorish arch of the blocked up doorway to the only partially standing, fourteenth century building, were outrageous. I counted about two hundred of them, lined up end to end in a two converging curves that formed the arch itself. Four rows of figures on each side. Impressively gothic, with its ornate spires, the convent's tall, stone tracery windows, devoid of both any glass and most all of the stonework inside them as well, monuments of a time long, long passed.
Many of the towns that we run through have a castle or some part of what once was a castle, on the hill over their town. Walked through a great example of one today. Topping a rise some kilometers before, we could see the castle, still relatively intact, atop the hill that dominates the small town of 700. The epitome of the castle on the hill with the serfs down below. We did not climb the formidable hill, given the tenderness of our feet, but were nonetheless awestruck.
After a small, 'desayuno grande,' of small pieces of toasted pan, a pad of butter each, and a package of jam like you get at a Denny's, plus one cafe con leche, we were looking forward to eating at this stop just slightly more than half way through our day's march. In fact, we had both already agreed that what we wanted most to eat, and were quite certain we could find, given their popular nature, was a bocadillo, a sandwich! Most tavernas have them, post the word on their, no pun intended, sandwich board. Usually they are priced from three to five and a half euros. We found some real doozies for three apiece.
T and I both probably obsess about food more than we should. Fine. Guilty as (self) charged. This being said, when walking long days with twenty five plus pound packs, one burns significantly more calories than back in the default world. Gary said he figures at the rate most camineros ambulate, that we are consuming in the neighborhood of eleven to twelve hundred calories per day. So, combine the first part with the second part and you get two people who have food on the brain.
Neither Teo nor I have had a bocadillo in country. As this constitutes the most stereotypically common lunch for a perigrino, that is surprising even to me. Especially when also combined with the other previously stated ingredients, I think that a perfect storm was formed today, I mean speaking of the bocadillo fest that we would have metaphorically, of course. We limped into Castrojerrez, admiring the castle and the church both, intent on executing a bocadillo search and destroy mission. We had traversed the better part of half a klick to get through most of the long, thin, curved around the base of the hill on the right, town, but had as of then found no tavernas or restaurantes. I said to Teo, "Well, we haven't gotten to the Plaza Mayor yet, so maybe there's still some places on the far end of town." Teo fires back, " I was looking more like for the Plaza de Bocadillos." We cracked up, and then, a sight to make the gastronomically oriented weep with joy, there it was.
Called simply, La Taverna, this quaint spot had the bocadillo mo jo up the yin yang. I ordered a cerveza grande for three euros and we sat outside in the rare heat of a full sun, and miracles of miracles, found the internet. For about thirty minutes we soaked up some rays, even though a decently chill wind blew, as always, from the west. Then I did the deed. I entered and ordered two loma and queso bocadillos. They were unexplainably good. Loma is veal. The local queso, made in Castrojerrez, is to die for. It is queso de cabra, sheep milk cheese, perfect texture, dry but not crumbly, white yellow in color, nutty, slightly spicy. And I think she cut one entire baguette in half to make our two sandwiches. We pretty much just looked at our food and into each other's eyes, nodding, saying things, between fist bumps, like, "Dude," and, " Right, dude?"
I bought a glass of tinto to drink with the food and discovered again that at forty cents, it is a much smarter economical choice in drinking here, not to mention, when in Spain.... We busted out our Bloodbowl and played the second half of our Dark Elves and Khemri match. T busted me a good one, his mean and nasty Elves taking out my sweet and golden blitz ras, thro ras, skeletons, and tomb guardians three touchdowns to zero. Then after a few more verbal interactions with the barkeep and the two older gentlemen present, we packed up our stuff and left. Oh, yeah, one more thing we did before we left-we ordered a fish bocadillo con queso, and one of jamon y queso to go! At three euros each, they are a much cheaper way to get dinner, the 'pilgrim's menu' being eight to ten euros, and they are much tastier than a large percentage of the menús peregrinos as well. Oh don't I just love it when we learn a new trick!
Castille is bordered to the north by Galicia, Asturias, and Cantabria . To the south by Madrid, both a city and an Autonomous Community. Extremadura, and Castille La Mancha border on the south. On the west is Portugal, and to the east, La Rioja, Aragon, and the Basque Counry. It has one of those histories that shines so bright as to blind the historian inside.
We found an albergue to stay in. One of the not heated ones! Most pilgrims have a thin sleeping bag that thy lay over the mattress. Tdog and I do not. So far we have found empty enough albergues that we can take an extra blanket from one of the vacant bunks and, if needed, like last night, sleep in my soft, warm up suit type pull on pants and my black, evening T-shirt. Probably getting to below freezing outside at night now. Given the time of year, that probably is only going to drop. Maybe the fat I'm shedding doing this trip has a downside! Thank God vanity trumps physical comfort!
We bought about five euros worth of groceries here in Itero deLa Vega: baguette, sliced jamón de serrano, sliced queso, an orange, two bananas. And I bought a botella de tinto por dos medio euros. We split the fish bocadillo and had part of the bread and cheese and ham and fruit. Saving the other bocadillo for tomorrow's lunch, the rest of the other goodies for breakfast.
Two South Korean guys about twenty two or so, came in, bunked with is. One of them, Evan, as thy both adopted 'English names' for their adventure, had on a Chelsea jacket. Two is a HUGE Chelsea fan and told him so. They were like long lost brothers, had a long talk after I went, uncharacteristically, to bed at ten, read and wrote a it before passing out. These two diminutive characters are trying to kill off the remaining 450 kilometers of the Camino in twelve days! You go, fellas!
Sitting out on the covered patio, it is about thirty-four degrees outside, clear sky, sun is shining. Should make for a good day of walking. We need to crank our daily totals back up into the twenty-five or more klicks per day to finish this thing in the time I have. Gonzalo emailed, and it seems that he and Victoria and Ignacio are eagerly awaiting our return to Madrid for some more hanging. Ignacio said that Ignacio told him that we should all start drinking cañas in the afternoon...cafe torrero! Would like three nights there before flying back to the states.
My foot is healing, still sore, but better each day. Teo, on the other foot, is getting a weird, infection looking spot on the ball of his foot just below the meeting spot of his big toe and the adjacent one. He had a small rock in his shoe one day, about ten days or more back, that caused a bit of a hole. Perhaps a bit of foreign matter is buried in there, it is getting reddish and I lanced it this am, put Neosporin on it, a corn/bunion circle opening pad, and two band aids. Hope it begins to get better soon, otherwise we will need to visit a farmácia down the trail and seek better advice and aid.
Yet today's focus remains centered on Goethe's sage words, "Whatever you can do, or dream you can; begin it. Boldness has genius power and magic in it." And, yeah, here I am in an albergue in Spain, three plus weeks into my almost two month experience out of time and place, soaking up an entirely novel culture, land, engaged in an outrageously awesome activity with my twenty year old son that behooves my own ability to comprehend. It has been said that people are only aware of anything that is novel, that activities in our life that we repeat, especially if we do so often, we are more or less unaware of. So that driving our commute to work each day, as an easy example, we do without noticing. If there is much, or even any, truth to this, than shouldn't we all be examining what we do and why we do it in order to attempt to live a life that we are at the very least aware of. That our moments, precious and ultimately valuable as they are, are spent doing things that we find interesting and engaging enough to be aware of, let alone to cherish and to adore?
So I am here and I got here by deciding to just do it. The rest, the finances to get here and to walk the Camino, the time off, the running of my 'back home' world by remote control, the finding and obtaining the right gear, all of it, fell into place once I set my mind on this idea, once Ieaned into it. Take Goethe's words as law, I implore you. Life is short and true living is rare. Awaken from your slumber, and forgive me if your life is one of the uncommon ones about which I misspeak, and begin some new magic in your world, take notice, really live. Who, upon their. Deathbed, regrets the portions of their life that they lived this way?
My internal turmoil has perhaps been downgraded from hurricane to tropical depression. The walking, and walking, and walking helps to lance the boils and blisters lining my insides, assuages the negative feelings, the self doubt and loss. While my head is as of yet filled each day as I walk with thoughts of her, with anger, with sadness, with unrealistic ideas of reconciliation, with all of the almosts, and the could have beens, at times I find myself at piece, just breathing and with just being. I strive as I walk, as we approach now the half way mark of this trek across five hundred miles of the Iberian Peninsula, to move away from the unhappiness and the feelings of emptiness and I try to stand more in the place of newness, of positivity, of growth. The sun is bright today and I am going to allow it inside, let its healing powers shine in the places where the blackness still clings, allow its healing power to turn the pockets of black mold into verdant, green gardens of magenta bougainvillia, flowers of every color, new growth.
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