Then I'm off. It's much colder and windier today. The clouds are dark and roiling, like the grey and troubled sky in El Greco's View of Toledo. I assume it will clear up and get warmer. It will not.
Camino Vista
At the top of the long hill is a large cross with a yellow arrow on it. The upright timber is the size of a telephone post. It is supported by a pile of large stones. I leave locks in the stones.
Two men in predominantly purple kilts and sandals pass me. I say, Scots! They laugh and pass me; they speak German.
Kilts and Sandals
Shortly after a tall man caught up to me. He said he was from Norwich, England. I said I’m from Texas; he replied, ‘Jolly good!’ He said he was walking with a friend who had a slower pace. He said some people like to talk, but he prefers to walk in his own little bubble. He then proceeded to talk a blue streak.
Pete of Norwich
He is here because he loves to walk. He is retired, but his wife still works. I said I had long had an interest in walking across England, from Robin Hood’s Bay in the east, to St. Bee's Head on the west coast. He says he has made that hike and it is much harder than the Camino. Don't be fooled by the shorter distance, he says. The climbs are brutal. I resolve on the spot not to walk across England, but rather remain at home reading Les Miserables and Martin Chuzzlewit.
He said he married late, had children late. His son, now 17, is sitting for his university exams. I asked where his son will attend university. He said the son visited Oxford, but found it too confining and academic, although mind you, he said, his son is an academic boy. Next he visited Cambridge; better, but lacked some of the courses he wants. Finally settled on Durham. His son is big on sport, and the facilities at Durham are among the best anywhere. He pushed ahead.
Later I entered a tiny burg with a cafe. I needed to use the WC and the price of admission is a small cup of espresso. I take my coffee and sit down with a group of older men, including the two guys in purple kilts. Turns out they are indeed Scottish, from Glasgow. I tell them I can't place the clan whose tartan they are wearing. They say it is the national tartan of Scotland. A bit hard to understand them. Also, there is an older man who introduces himself at Chris, the walking companion of the man from Norwich; he tells me that man's name is Peter.
The Scots and I push on. Difficult, sometimes, to understand their thick Scottish burr ; everything is a wee this or a wee that. Yes is always aye. They are brothers.
The older one told me he recently retired from the fire service in Glasgow, and is walking the Camino to celebrate. They bring up 9-11; the firefighter said as soon as the news hit Glasgow, all 1000 of the fire fighters there wanted to go to New York immediately to help. I told him the story of the following day, when electronic beeps were heard all through the rubble, the cell phones of the firemen who had perished.
The younger explains (although I didn't ask) that the reason the Scots invent so much is because it is so cold. They have to walk or invent to stay warm.
I ask how they stand on independence for Scotland. They're in the middle, they say. They told this story: During the depths of the recent financial crisis, the Bank of England bailed out the Bank of Scotland, big time. Now some British politicians are asking, what happens if Scotland goes it alone? The Scots say they hadn't thought about that.
Talk turns to the economy and political affairs. We agree that the wars in Iraq and in Afghanistan were insane, as was Tony Blair's decision to cast his lot with George Bush. The firefighter is roiled by the thought of executives making 20 million pounds a year. He says his firefighter's pension is not enough to live on; he'll have to find something else.
I stop for a while and they push on. Soon after Pete catches up with me, telling me again how much he likes to stay in his own little bubble, while Chris likes to talk constantly. I assure him I have no interest in invading his bubble, and let him pass ahead.
Still cold and very windy, it begins to rain. Many pilgrims already had their back packs wrapped in their ponchos. I slip on my rain pants and rain hat, but have trouble in the wind tossing my poncho over my head to cover my pack. Along comes a wee French girl no taller than 5 feet. I ask if she will help me; she will. First, she tells me my poncho is inside out. Ah, yes. Standing on her tiptoes she pulls my poncho over my pack. Blanche DuBois is not the only person who depended on the kindness of strangers.
Shortly after I get my poncho right, the rain stops but I leave everything in place, noticing that it is the first time all day I've not been cold. Later, it begins to warm and I slip my arms out of the sleeves and pull the hood back, leaving the poncho flowing behind me like a powder blue cape.
At the outskirts of Burgos, I come upon a place where one yellow arrow points straight ahead, another to the left. A couple is struggling with this. I've got the picture. The guide book prepared me for this. To the left is the longer but prettier way; straight ahead is the gritty industrial area.
I take the scenic route with the couple who are French; they live about 30 kilometers outside Paris. The husband speaks pretty good English.
I ask if he voted for M. Hollande, the recently elected socialist prime minister. No, he answers. "The French people are dreaming," he says. "We can no longer afford socialism."
We discuss current affairs until we enter Burgos, when it starts raining hard and now includes BB-sized hail.
They peel off for their hotel and I continue on. Pete materializes out of nowhere. He asks if I got hail too. I assure him I did. "Bloody hell!" he roars. He asks if I've seen Chris; I tell him Chris passed me when I was putting my poncho on.
The Scots also reappear, now in shorts. I tell them about hotel.com and they say that is just what they are looking for. I find my hotel, right on the Camino, and check in. The sleek, modern hotel offers a gym and a sauna. I have no need for more exercise, and have been taking a 5-6 hour sauna every day for two weeks.
That's all for a while.
Un abrazo,
John
| NEXT: Science & Religion