Leeward Camino: Travel Posse

We've formed an odd little tribe. It's not the first for any of us — we've all walked with different groups here and there. And it's always hard to know how long these travel posses will last. But these women are just my speed, in more ways than one.

We're all on the Camino alone. All of us single women. There's the razor sharp Canadian writer, Michelle. She's quick to laugh and is the only one of us that speaks any Spanish. Then there's Salt Cay Cindy, who cooks for us and has southern sass coming out her ears. Her nickname comes from the island in Turks and Caicos where she spends half her year. Then of course there's the nurse Talitha, a Dutch atheist who is both kind and delightfully frank in her perfect, merciless English. Our ages vary but the company is consistent, and it works well. Canadian humorist, Salt Cay Cindy, a Dutch nurse, and me. It's good times.

I'll post a less shadowed picture later...

I was sitting with my three amigas a few days ago while they shared a pitcher of sangria and talked about the ethics of taking the bus on certain legs instead of walking. Some people say it threatens the purity of the pilgrimage, but Cindy and Michele are all for it. Each to his own Camino, they say.

"I think God forgives us for taking the bus," Michele said, grinning over her glass.

"God doesn't exist..." Talitha reminds us, waggling her ice cubes.

Everyone comes at the spirituality aspect from a different angle, but what we all have in common is a willingness to discuss it. This is what I like about the Camino. It is full of spiritual thinkers, but followers of rigid religious dogma are less frequent.

Myself, I agree with Michelle. Each to their own Camino. If you want to take a bus, take a bus. You think every medieval pilgrim turned down a donkey ride or a free spot on a carriage rolling by? I think not.

No matter how it shakes out, any Pilgrim will meet a bizarre collection of people each day that find new ways to blow one's mind. Like the Dutch man that started his Camino from his front step on the first of July. Kissed his wife, hugged his granddaughter, and set out. Or the man from Madagascar, who travels with a small, golden-haired dog and always sleeps outside. Or the Korean teenagers that giggle at everything. From empty toilet paper rolls to bee stings.

Talitha and I have gotten to know each other well enough now that she's calling me on my shennanigans — large and small.

"Damn, there's no extra blankets," I said to Talitha. She looked at my sleeping bag on the bunk.

"Do you get cold at night?" She's not making eye contact with me. I'm wondering where this is going.

"Well, no. But it's like a security thing. Why?" She starts to laugh.

"Because every time I am in the lower bunk, I wake up in the morning to see your extra blanket on the floor. It makes no sense."

I agreed that it indeed made no sense.

It's hard to add up the good advice she's given me. Most recently she gently suggested that I stop researching Spa resorts for the end of the month and finish the Camino first.

"This is why you're irritable," she said. "In your head you've already finished."

I couldn't argue with her. A few minutes earlier she'd read me the kilometers and terrain report for tomorrow's hike. From the great height of my creaking top bunk I muttered that I was "not happy about that horse shit" and kept typing. Then we both laughed, because my deplorable attitude was so hopelessly inappropriate.

But she agreed with me, for the most part, that the hippie boys in the kitchen playing guitar and flute should likely be silenced, if not bludgeoned, so we're really on the same page.

It's hard to describe how grateful I am to have met these interesting women with whom I can now share meals and laundry loads and gripes and hiking plans. Yesterday I took a scenic route, and it was particularly hard. And it didn't help that on the last bit of the climb, the adorable couple in front of me stopped every hundred feet or so to kiss, like a bunch of jerks. I almost started throwing rocks. But I didn't have the energy, and I knew that my three amigas were waiting in La Faba with a dinner plan and a bed set aside for me.

Sure enough, as I stumbled up the last hill, Talitha was sitting on the fountain with a cigarette and a smile.

"You're here. You don't have to do anything. Just sit down." How nice to hear those words, and know they were true. But it is likely that we are splitting up tomorrow. Despite the comfort of this group, we are still individual Pilgrims, and our paths were always meant to diverge.

Some pictures from the last week or so...and sorry for the lack of updates.

Yesterday I opted for the harder route, and was rewarded with beautiful views of the foggy valley below. I didn't see a soul for four hours — rare indeed on the Camino — aside from one older gentleman in his chestnut grove.

An interesting stop between towns. This hostel/alter/shaded patio/dog party is in an almost abandoned village and famous for its single resident, Thomas, that regularly dresses as a knight.

This is normal in Europe apparently. Talitha thought it was silly that I wanted a picture with this completely standard shopping device. But she took it anyway.

The good thing about getting up before dawn every day.

Castle!! The whole time we walked around I secretly pretended I was a tragic character from Game of Thrones, preparing to avenge something. "Winter is Coming!!!!!!"