sunrise on the Camino

"I'm not complaining," I insist, sitting on a velvet-striped couch that looks as though it came off a tv sitcom in the 1970s, looking at a glassed-in courtyard that holds the dichotomy of an old ten-foot stone pillar topped with a cross and a trellis covered in fake leaves and plastic pots. "But there's no bathtub."

This decrease in quality of hotel, down to one-star today after beginning with a four-star hotel in Viana do Castelho, has been manageable because there has always been a bathtub. After a long day of walking, even if the room is small and the bathroom a cheap reno, I can climb into the tub for an hour, put my feet up on the wall and recover. It takes the achiness out of the day and slides me into an evening of wine, seafood and laughter.

But this latest place, in which we stay for two nights and get taxis to the beginning of where we left the Camino the day before, the rooms are so small that I had to rearrange the furniture in order to open my suitcase. The window is minimal and while I can see the top of the cross in the courtyard, there is little opportunity for breeze or sun.

However, I'm not really complaining - it's not my style. Although I have yet to bathe.

We tend to cross paths again and again with the same pilgrims, and we have met interesting ones from all over - the Walk draws many nationalities. In the church of Padrón (yes, the place of the pimientos), a rather fed-up man dealing with change for postcards while also stamping Camino passports, perked up when my friend said she was from Vigo, a nearby town, and the next person said she was Burmese. Kind of says it all, doesn't it?

The Portuguese Camino has become popular of late because it's shorter than the French one, and of course we're in the best season with the heat of summer gone but the rains of winter not yet arrived. We get up in the dark every morning because here on the Galician coast we are so far west that the sun doesn't rise until after 8 am, and all day we walk. We stop when our feet demand it or when we're hungry. We have coffee in simple cafes where we are often given croissants, fruits and nuts alongside a one-euro espresso or cafe con leche.

At the end of a day of walking, we eat a late dinner together, usually after a bath and a rest, as most Spanish restaurants don't start serving until after 8 pm. Then we sleep. 

I appreciate the ease, the repetition, and the lack of agency I have to make any change in this routine. A simple rhythm, no decisions needed. Just one foot in front of the other, hour after hour. It calms the mind. The last two days have been long - averaging 26 kms each day - so in spite of the enjoyment of the routine, I think we're ready for our Saturday arrival into Santiago de Compostela.

Today included a boat trip up the river Ulla from Vilanova de Arousa, following the route that the disciples of St. James (Santiago, for those who hadn't put two and two together) took when they brought his body (in a stone boat, no less) to bury in Santiago de Compostela. Beneath the altar of the church in Padrón, behind glass and etched with symbols, is the rock used to moor the boat where the river ended and the disciples continued overland. 

I lit a candle for my father, enjoying the quietude of the church. Content in my life. Even without a bathtub.

I must add that it is such fun to see the dynamics between six women all used to being in charge. We're not at Lord of the Flies level, though. Not yet. There will be no war dances nor sacrifices. Not unless the bar runs out of Albariño, or if the last place has no bathtub.

"If you're tired, learn to rest, not to quit."

Such a mixed bag. Not the people but the hotels, the restaurants, even the landscape and the weather. The first night we were in a grand hotel down on the waterfront, with its pool table in the lobby and a spa, where our lovely rooms overlooked ... the bins, with all the cacophony of garbage pick up, staff on their smoke break, and then more rubbish. Last night the room was tiny, the pillows rounded chunks of foam and the bathroom functional (because it included a bidet) but the bathtub was divine, the lighting good and even with a driving rain through my (open) French door through much of the night, I slept a charm.

I had to mop the floor in the morning and wring out the one sock that had fallen into the puddle, but it was joyous.

Sometimes it's the meal that can make the moment, such as my first evening in Porto, when five of us dined together at "Raiz", a lovely restaurant where we had a prime table, engaged waiters, and we shared the unusual dishes that came out. The wine was delicious. It came from Cartuxa, a winery that I'd visited on my "couples cycling trip" in 2017, and somehow it felt as though I was raising a glass to the end of that period of my life. I may need more rituals like that.

Decision-making, though, is the bane of our existence here, as we finish day three of El Camino. Particularly about dinner. When I did four days of the Costa Rican Camino in February, we were just served a plate of food at the end of the day, usually in the home of a local woman. Effortless. One gets tired of making decisions in life, so that was a real treat. Here, there are six women, all used to deciding everything, all the time. None of us wants to make decisions but we know it needs doing.

A large bus pulled up to our wedding-venue type hotel, overlooking the crashing surf of the Spanish coastline (we entered Spain yesterday, so our Portuguese Camino only had two days in Portugal), as I was working on this post. The restaurant includes four very long tables set for dinner, so I can only assume more buses are expected. I'm happy we dined at a local tapas place nearby.

That dinner, which I just returned from, was divine. A small restaurant where we sat at an excellent, round table with the sunset view out a plate glass window. We ate pimientos de padrón, as one should in Spain, and mussels, and a squid-ink pasta that "es como calamar pero no es". I can only assume cuttlefish but can't find the word in Spanish. We had such wide-ranging conversations and laughed so hard that I think (I hope) we shocked the youngish man sitting by himself eating steak frites with a beer. Perhaps he was listening and learning that older women talk about everything from politics to vibrators to books and erotica. Often in the space of ten minutes.

The details, however, remain with us. What happens on the Camino, stays on the Camino.

 

We need a videographer!

I mean, seriously. There were many opportunities today to film a new series. Five women, between the ages of 59 and later 70s, coming off the train in Viana do Castelho, heavy suitcases in tow. Yes, we are actually doing the Camino. Many do it carrying their belongings on their back, but we're just dipping our toes in, having a 12-day initiation. We have opted for the luxury Camino, which is a non-sequitur from the get-go.

So it's a heady combination of shared power bars, hydration mixes, drinks in the lobby and a lifetime of habits. Can you imagine trying to come to a consensus as far as a start time tomorrow? I mean, it's the first day of walking. Five of the six of us have just arrived from North America, so there's jet lag to contend with, never mind completely different morning routines.

We trundled our standard-but-heavy suitcases down the central avenue, turned right just past a street-side restaurant that sent delicious scents of fish and garlic and tomatoes our direction (did I mention it was 3 already and we hadn't eaten lunch?), then hit the hard-core cobblestones. Not the time for a wheel to come off.

Fortunately, none did. Instead we arrived at our gorgeous, waterfront hotel. My room is a deep blue. Or maybe it's green. Hard to tell with the low light reflecting off the antiqued armoire doors. There's a pool table in the lobby area and the spa, I gather, is divine. Outside my large window, I can hear only the gentle whirr of air conditioners. My bed looks inviting.

After a journal writing stint in the comfortable lobby bar, glass of white wine at my elbow, the complete cohort of six (where's that videographer?) headed off for dinner, only to be thwarted by the lack of a reservation and so we ended up at a typical restaurant where the wine came in jugs and (too) much of the food was fried. But we laughed and shared stories, and tried to come to an agreement, yet again, as to when we should start. 8 am? Our bags need to be down by then to be transported to our next hotel (no more cobblestones for us). But suddenly that seems early.

Even while being in a group like this is so unlike my normal, independent way of traveling, I am so looking forward to spending the next couple of weeks with such fabulous women. There isn't a shrinking violet amongst us, so I wonder how it will unfold. 

The end of the day before the first walk. I may or may not write regularly. The goal for me for this Camino is inspiration. Writing inspiration. Everything else I've thrown to the wind recently has come to fruition, so here's hoping. 

Summer is over. Perhaps not in the UK where record temperatures have kept the thermometer above 30 for the past seven days, but here in Canada I have put jeans on for the first time in months. September is my new year, a habit left over from decades of this being the beginning of a new school year for the girls with all its changes and challenges, and I often make a new year's resolution.

I have, however, realised that for it to have any actual effect, I need to examine what I'm really looking to do. A resolution to learn something new, read more books, write every day or drink less wine won't work unless I shift something.

A small change, acted on regularly, can have a dramatic transformation of habit patterns and outlook. I know I'm know good at the large changes - renting out my house, buying one-way tickets to various countries or, looking farther back in time, studying in France and eloping to New Mexico, but the little ones matter, too.

So my new year's resolution this September is all about intention. I want to live more intentionally. I will use a notebook to jot down my plans and ideas, and will make time in the evening to reflect on how my day went. I feel this might work, and I'm writing it here as sometimes it helps to create accountability. 

I watched the premiere of Swan Song yesterday afternoon at the Toronto International Film Festival. This documentary is a deep dive into the creation of Swan Lake by Karen Kain, one of Canada's top ballerina and former artistic director of the National Ballet. She's also known as Canada's Princess Diana.

Well-made, emotional films such as this light a fire within me. I want to create like that. I want to push everything aside and focus on my writing. I want to own being a writer in a bigger way.

My amazing sister, one of Canada's most sought-after post-production professionals, was the Sound Designer on the film which meant we were invited to the post-screening cocktail party. Watching friends or family in their professional world is always eye-opening, and I was happy in her orbit. I also - fan girl moment - met Karen Kain, and I told her what a thrill it had been to live on the same street as her in the 1980s. 

Going forward? After a quick visit to Chicago, I head to Portugal on Saturday for two weeks of the Portuguese Caminho, which goes from Porto, along the coast, to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. I'm doing it with five women I met through the Baja workshop in March, which adds to the fun. We're all in similar places in life, with similar outlooks, but we don't know each other well. This is an opportunity.

After that, I plan to settle in Switzerland for the remainder of the autumn. I'm ready to unpack and be in one place. To write and read, to visit with the surprisingly large number of friends I have in that country and to hike in the Alps as the weather shifts. If anyone knows anyone with a house, flat or caravan to rent near Lake Leman and Geneva...

This entry is more of an update than an exploration, and lacks any sharing of the wonderful trip I took to Williamsburg, Virginia and Washington, DC a few weeks ago. That was a time of reconnection and learning and fun, again with people from the Modern Elder Academy workshop I went to in March. Have I mentioned how much of a hinge that was on this year of discovery? My untethered year has been everything I hoped for, and more. What will the autumn hold??