Kiwi on the Camino

by Vivianne Flintoff

  We choose a table, take off our packs and I wearily walk into the dark interior. There is food in the glass display cabinets and a menu. As we have snacked, I simply order our coffees. Back at the table, I take off my shoes and socks then elevate my right foot. I am not concerned about taking my shoes off here. We are outside. The donkeys soon come over to greet me and come up very close. I have never had a donkey in my face before. Bruce is off to the side, laughing and taking photos. The dog ignores us much preferring local company.

  Two kilometres before Villalcāzar de Sirga, Bruce removes his sock and sandal from his right foot and begins walking barefoot. “Bruce, are you sure you can walk without your sandal?” “Well I sure can’t walk with the sandal on.” He now has four tramping boots and one sandal hanging on the outside of his pack.

  When we reach the historic village of Villalcázar de Sirga, German pilgrims we met yesterday call out to us from their seat under a large white awning outside the bar opposite the Templar church - Santa María la Blanca. This church is the reason for our stop at Villalcázar. The guidebook is enthusiastic about this church, a national monument. “Even if you are not into visiting churches, this one is not to be missed.” The church is closed and I am worried that we will miss viewing the one church that could prove to be the highlight of the trip.

  This bar has larger versions of the white plastic tables. The pilgrims pull chairs out for us. “Tomorrow you will be walking with two bare feet. You are from New Zealand.” Our conversation with them yesterday had included sympathy over the pain of blisters and today we are friends. Brief moments of encounter kindle rapport so quickly. There is also a pilgrim from the USA sitting at this table whom we had met, for the first time, in the village of Villovieco. He has arrived at this table before us because he took the shorter route that followed the road. Bruce joins them in drinking beer.

  We saw pilgrims in the distance, walking the shorter road route, as we walked the more scenic river path. We have been choosing the alternative (often longer) routes, the ‘roads less travelled,’ as they are usually quieter and more picturesque. Along the river path, we came across a large sign with sketches and text about the local flora and fauna. Half of the signage was in braille. Awesome. It reminded us of the bronze sculpture we had seen when leaving Burgos. It was of a woman in a wheel chair. We have seen a lot of sculpture along The Way and been encouraged and impressed with the public inclusion of people, through the medium of art, who are so often overlooked.

  The US pilgrim tells us there is a shop around the corner which will probably sell bread. Even though it is 2 p.m. and siesta time, it is open. I am grateful. Our fresh bread sandwich of olive oil, tomatoes, ham and cream cheese with chopped up nuts (purchased from the bar) is once again enjoyable. I never tire of this lunch. I am initially concerned that the bar tenders will object to us eating food we have not purchased from the bar. “This is not New Zealand. We are pilgrims. They will not chase us away.” I accept our table mate’s view and so we stay.

  Our blister-sympathetic friends move on. I go inside and order two coffees, asking for one of them to be hot. My coffee is hot, but Bruce’s is cold. I need to learn the Spanish for, “One of the coffees to be extra hot please.”

  We still have a two hour wait for the church to open. To the side of the bar is a restful little plaza with a children’s swing set and some park benches. Bruce promptly goes to sleep on one of the benches. How does he do that? He can sleep on any surface and always goes straight to sleep. He has even slept on a cold concrete boat ramp at Lake Waikaremoana at the end of the tramping track, when we were waiting for a boat to return us to the camp ground. I find this ability of Bruce’s somewhat annoying - this is yet another skill I have not been able to acquire. He, on the other hand, does not know what all the fuss is about and why for me sleep is sometimes elusive. “Why you just don’t go to sleep?” I have yet to fathom this myself.

  I find a park bench to lie down on and am glad to be awake. I look up and realise a different angle makes it possible to see things from an alternative view. It is a long time since I last lay on a park bench. Have I ever taken the time to do so? The sun is shining between the leaves of the two evergreen trees. The bare trunks of the four plane trees have become the arms of a square through the grafting together of their branches. Or is it a group of four dancers poised waiting for the music to begin? Behind the square of leafless trees is the yellow-green of spring leaves on a beech tree with two single storey adobe houses tucked behind. One is yellow and the other cream. I muse that this too is the Camino: taking time to look at the ordinary from a changed perspective. I lie listening to the wind play through the leaves of the trees above, with pigeons providing a bass note and smaller birds the faster staccato descant. I am content.

  Sleep being elusive, I observe two pilgrims arriving who are obviously interested in the church. It is the Italian couple (Maria and Ricardo) we had met a few nights back. Bruce had an enjoyable conversation with them comparing New Zealand and Italian politics. There was much agreement among them about the state of things political. I wake Bruce and ask him to go and catch up with them. It is now thirty minutes past the advertised opening time of the church. Do we keep on waiting or is it time to go? We have now been waiting at this village for three hours. While Bruce moves over to speak with the Italians, I discover the village well is dry and we will need more water before walking a further six kilometres to Carrion de Los Condos.

  Maria and Ricardo walk to the bar where we had sat previously and we join them. Maria notices a bus full of Spanish school children stopping in front of the church and quickly encourages us to our feet. We are over the road as the front door opens. We walk quietly into the church at the back of the line of children. Maria and Ricardo become our personal tour guides. She remains a tour guide in Italy for Chinese tour groups. He had formally been a guide, but is now working elsewhere. They understand and can read this ancient 13th century Templar church. The substantial rose window allows light through, but we are too late to see the effect of the midday sun. The Chapel of Santiago is adorned with medieval sculptured tombs. Some of the original colours are still visible. The Italians tell us the colours chosen for the sculptures are significant, but I do not record the detail. It is humbling to see such ancient art.

  The Italians show us the marks each stone mason has made on the stones he cut so he could claim his pay. We also learn that churches were built to maximize the music of the day and that as music forms changed, so did the architectural structure of the churches. We are fortunate to have this personalised education. Bruce and I know so little about the architecture we have been viewing on our journey.

  We also talk of more humble things, such as blisters. These Italian friends, both seasoned Camino walkers, having returned to the Camino Frances over a number of years during annual holidays, know the Camino treatment for blisters. They promise they will operate on our blisters after our evening showers. The guidebook said there was no pilgrim accommodation apart from one albergue. Maria and Ricardo do not want to stay in an albergue so she sets off to find a family who provides rooms for pilgrims. Once again, we are in the presence of multilingual pilgrims. Their English is fluent, and being Italian, they can converse in Spanish. They also speak Mandarin.

  Maria returns and we follow her along a couple of streets to the home she has found. The host couple warmly welcome us and show the four of us upstairs to two bedrooms, with double beds (the first we have come across), with a shared bathroom for pilgrims. It is perfect. After our showers, Maria and Ricardo knock on our door. They enter with the required surgical instruments. I tell all present that my blister is healing. It really does look like it is healing. In this cowardly fashion, I refuse their offer of a blister cure.

  Bruce lies down on the bed on his stomach and exposes his right heel. I determine not to watch, turn my back on the procedure and face the wall. The wall is covered with a very pretty wallpaper with
pink roses on a blue background.

  He later explains the procedure with unnecessarily graphic detail. I repeat the technique here in case any of you get blisters when walking the Camino. If you are at all squeamish, feel free to skip what follows:

  Dealing with Blisters the Camino Way

  You will need:

  a.A pair of clean, steady hands and a reliable stomach

  b.A sewing needle – it needs to be longer than your blister

  c.Cotton thread – this needs to be cotton and not synthetic

  d.Scissors to trim the cotton

  e.Betadine or Iodine

  f.A bowl in which to pour the Betadine (or Iodine)

  g.Sufficient clean tissue to mop up the fluid escaping from the pierced blister

  h.A disposal basket in which to put the whole disgusting lot

  i.A reviving drink for any spectator who may be prone on the floor

  j.A non-spectator, while possibly needing a reviving drink, has not earned one.

  Procedure:

  1.Soak the foot (or feet if you are that unlucky) until the current plaster can be removed without removing the skin off the blister

  2.Thread a suitably long sewing needle with the cotton then drown both needle and thread in Betadine (or Iodine)

  3.Thread the needle and cotton under the skin of the blister until the needle can be pulled out the other side of the blister

  4.Mop the draining blister fluid as fast as possible then check the floor and the bedclothes (an assistant can be useful here)

  5.Pull the needle far enough so there is a tag of cotton on either side of the blister and trim, so that some cotton extends from each side of the blister. This will allow the blister to continue to drain and not reform into a fluid filled sac of pain and misery

  6.Remember that as the blister heals the cotton will be rejected and ejected by the new skin

  7.Help the patient to stand on his/her foot and join in the celebration of being able to stand with the foot flat on the floor without pain

  8.Cover the foot with a clean sock. On no account cover the affected area with second skin or plaster of any kind

  9.Pick up the swooned spectator (if any) and all exit for a reviving drink

  10.Remember to collect any non-spectator still facing a wall that may or may not have pink roses with a blue background.

  Bruce stands on his naked foot and a grin of delight crosses his face. He can stand on the foot without pain. He expresses his appreciation. Our meeting with these two wonderfully generous people has been timely indeed.

  Creator of life, thank you for providing what we need each day.

  We follow our tour guides, now re-created as theatre surgeons, down the stairs, out on to the empty street to a close-by restaurant. The restaurant is inviting with its red and white checked cloths covering wooden tables with comfortable wooden chairs. We have an evening of warm and satisfying conversation and laughter. There are just two other customers in the restaurant, both are pilgrims. Maria and Ricardo insist on paying for Bruce’s and my meals. “You are from New Zealand.” Generosity continues to abound as we limp our way westward.

  On our return to our place of refuge for the night, our host greets us at the front door and invites us into the kitchen. It is small and narrow with a couple of large hams hanging from the ceiling. Our host is very proud of these hams and explains how he cured them. Maria and Ricardo translate for us every now and then. Our host then produces a bottle of something he has fermented. It is poured into small shot glasses and we watch the Italians just throw it back. I try to emulate their practice. Golly gosh! Volcano water! The second pressing back in Castrojeriz was lolly water in comparison. I only manage one. Maria and Ricardo welcome seconds. Bruce also declines a second shot.

  In the morning, the four of us meet again on the stairway landing and make our way to our favourite restaurant in this town. Bruce walks without a limp, without even trying. He is pain free. His Camino can continue. I, on the other hand, am in a lot of blister induced pain and limp slowly down the uneven cobbled road. Bother the picturesque cobbles. Courage, not cowardice, would have better served me.

  Loose the cords of the mistakes that bind us

  We partake of freshly squeezed orange juice followed by light, fluffy omelettes stuffed with ham and cheese. Exceedingly fresh bread and clear, extra virgin oil accompany our omelettes. The coffee tastes almost as good as it smells. I now know to ask for an ‘Americana’ - coffee with a little milk. Bruce prefers a milkier coffee.

  We talk of the Camino Saint Francis through Umbria and Tuscany and my thoughts of Bruce and I, one day, walking that Camino. “That Camino is not so well served as here in Spain. Italy already has enough tourists because of all the ancient antiquities and treasures. Unlike Spain, Italy does not need to cater to the pilgrims.”

  Bruce and I offer, and insist, we pay for Maria and Ricardo’s breakfast. They fervently request us not to. Ricardo threatens to fight Bruce if we pay. A farce nonetheless: Bruce so tall and big and Ricardo so much smaller. I am in a quandary. I do not want to offend and am aware I do not know the local (or Italian) protocols. I talk with the Spanish chef and she sides with the Italians. We take her advice and do not pay for the Italians’ breakfast. I enjoy my brief interactions with the chef. She is a warm-hearted woman. I practise my Spanish and she her English. We give Maria and Ricardo our email address should they make it to New Zealand to do some of the Great Walks. I am grateful for the timely meeting with this giving couple. Without their knowledge of how to deal with large blisters, and their willingness to give us their time and help, our Camino could well have been over.

  Villalcázar de Sirga to

  Carrión de Los Condes

  6 kms (3.7ml)

  419.8 kms (260.5ml)

  When you have gone so far that you can’t manage

  one more step, then you’ve gone just half the

  distance you’re capable of.

  Greenland Proverb

  April 10, Day 20

  WE SAY GOODBYE TO RICARDO and Maria after breakfast as they move off ahead of us. Again, I notice the sense of loss as they move away. Bruce admits, “I am going to miss their company.” We both appreciate the warmth and camaraderie we experience, sometimes during the day, but mostly over dinner.

  Leaving the village, we find ourselves on a quiet road. We are soon among the rolling crop fields. To our left are quaint family owned wine cellars tucked into low rounded hills, known as bodegas. We take turns in drawing the other’s attention to yet another wine cellar. Bruce and I admire the owners’ creativity to mark their bodega with a unique identity and look. Each one is different. Some have crooked chimney stacks and are substantial enough to be a weekend home away from home, or perhaps these cellars are the Spanish version of the New Zealand man cave.

  I manage only six kilometres - the six kilometres we had planned to walk yesterday. I must now face reality. It is either the Camino blister treatment or I will be saying goodbye to the Camino. Not that I voice the internal dialogue aloud. “There may be a post office in this small town and we can empty our packs of our remaining warm gear.” Bruce is convinced. We prepare to find the albergue I had marked for our yesterday’s intended stopover.

  We have been talking about reducing the amount of gear in our packs and plan to send the surplus back to Wayne’s post office box in Pollensa. Post Offices, we have been told, are used to pilgrims forwarding their belongings on to Santiago. I am relieved we have an alternative option. Bruce has an abundance of underwear which he purchased in Estella. There we had finally found a male clothing shop, but the two male shop attendants were doubtful whether they would be able to find anything big enough for Bruce. I thoroughly enjoyed watching their murmured doubt and worried expressions before launching their search. Success. Bruce leaves the s
hop five pairs of underwear richer. He doesn’t need so many, so some of these will be dispatched. I have also decided to post back my swimming bathers (too cold to swim) and we both want to rid ourselves of a warm, long sleeved top, hoping we will not encounter any more snow.

  We choose to stay in the Convento de Santa Clara. I want to stay in churches, monasteries or convents whenever we can. Santa Clara has a small wing for pilgrims with kitchen facilities. We are both impressed with the flagstone courtyard with its stone cross in the centre. There is a rather spindly, but tall tree, putting out its spring leaf cover. The convent looks to be immaculate and well preserved. There are a couple of wooden benches strategically placed just outside the front door which we immediately make use of. We are greeted by a man with a smattering of English and between his English and my Spanish I understand we can have a single room for just seven euros each. We are warmly greeted by a nun, who shows us to a small cell. Bruce and I marvel at its tiny dimensions and the very low ceiling. Bruce cannot stand up straight, but it is a private room with two single beds. The room has been recently tiled and is scrupulously clean. There is a small window which looks out to a wall and I see the tops of a few bare branched trees.