May 31: Leon - Villadangoes del Paramo
Predictably at 6 a.m. I got turned around walking out of Leon. I wasn’t the only one. In the dark another woman and I searched for signs of the shiny brass scallop shells in the pavement and retraced our steps several times. Our eyes were accustomed to looking for the bright yellow arrows painted on buildings and other markers. The city itself was dimly lighted. Another excuse.
Predictably at 6 a.m. I got turned around walking out of Leon. I wasn’t the only one. In the dark another woman and I searched for signs of the shiny brass scallop shells in the pavement and retraced our steps several times. Our eyes were accustomed to looking for the bright yellow arrows painted on buildings and other markers. The city itself was dimly lighted. Another excuse.
Finally, dawn broke and we come upon the San Marcos Parador, shown in a scene in “The Way.” Oh how I would have liked to stay here, or just stepped foot inside the lobby of this 5-star jewel filled with elegant tapestries, paintings and carvings. Right down my alley. This was a monastery many years ago before the ancient original was destroyed. Other paradors are old converts or castles no longer in use. I took photos of the exterior of the Renaissance building. It depicts religious and historic events. At a minimum of $300 a night – I marched on. Sigh!
Today's early morning path was along the highway. The last hour was a dirt road. Trucks kicked up dust. Every day seems to often one more humbling experience. I imagine Randy at home watching all the television shows he wanted. I remind myself, we each make our own choices. Actually, I learned later he was spreading my chronicles to an ever-increasing number of about 70 anxious followers via daily emails.
Dodging traffic I reached La Virgen Del Camino - a suburb of Leon – via the unattractive industrial part of the city. At a convenience market I stopped to buy an orange, my breakfast of choice. Instead the merchant offered to sell this pilgrim two for the price of one.
A café was located next door. Brenda, one of the Canadians I met the night before asked to join me. She was a potato farmer who provided seed potatoes to J.R. Simplot, our Highland View Drive neighbor,in Boise, Idaho where we lived in the late 1980s.
Sometimes wrong but never in doubt
Brenda and I walked together for a few miles. The signs didn’t look right. I felt sure this was not the recommended yellow-gold color-coded path in my Brierley guide book and suggested this to my walking companion. The self-assured businesswoman was not going to back down and snipped, “I don’t know what your American guide book says." Again she insisted she was right and kept walking. Ahead of me.
There’s a saying on the Camino. “Never go back.” I should have trusted my gut and turned back, but by that time I thought it was too late. Yet, I had already broken that rule the day before by retrieving my hiking poles. Turning back would have saved me time in the long run. Furthermore, “this was not the pretty way,” I remembered my late boss, publisher Janet Chusmir, of the Boulder (Co.) Daily Camera newspaper was known to say in giving driving directions.
I’m learning the hard way. I'm giving you this good advice: don’t follow unless you are certain of the leadership ability and good decision-making capability of those you chose to follow. Good advice in a presidential election year.
Checking into alberque with single cots:
It was awful walking 13 miles without shade today. Passing through San Martin I stop to take a photo for Bob Martin whom I first met - along with his saintly wife, Rita - on the first SMA mission trip to Guatemala. Of course, I thought of Joe Kelly, too, since he was the impetus for this journey.
Arriving in Villadangoes del Paramo I registered at the municipal hostel offering 85 single cot beds. What a blessing not to have the upper bunk, or the one below having to duck low just not to hit my head on the top railing. Another privilege was a window ledge to spread out contents of my backpack. I shared the ample space with the pilgrim next cot over. More of this episode in the days ahead.
This was a opportunity for me to take everything out of my backpack and wash about ten items. Today was sunny. Blessed be an afternoon without a rain cloud in sight. These clothes were still not as clean as they would be from my washing machine at home. Occasionally, machines are available but often I chose not to spend the 7 to 12 euros it would cost - upwards of $13.00 U.S. per day.
I even cleaned my Platypus water container having previously feared it would be swimming with algae. It wasn’t. I also was concerned the bottom of the backpack was moldy since I had not properly sealed the Platypus on more than one occasion. It wasn't either.
I was surrounded by a group of Asian women, who used lotions that smelled like eucalyptus. With my eyes closed I imagined a spa. Ah. Heavenly.
Even though I like to cook, and here there are adequate cooking facilities, I figure it was not worth it for one person. I recall the rusted can of mushrooms a few days back and realized I’d dodged a bullet. I found a tienda nearby and purchased a freshly made tuna empanada, a bag of green Spanish olives and a non-alcohol beer.
I’m one of the first in bed for the evening. The Melaxicam was not relieving my foot pain with, or without the supposedly magical European gel Voltadol
Dodging traffic I reached La Virgen Del Camino - a suburb of Leon – via the unattractive industrial part of the city. At a convenience market I stopped to buy an orange, my breakfast of choice. Instead the merchant offered to sell this pilgrim two for the price of one.
A café was located next door. Brenda, one of the Canadians I met the night before asked to join me. She was a potato farmer who provided seed potatoes to J.R. Simplot, our Highland View Drive neighbor,in Boise, Idaho where we lived in the late 1980s.
Sometimes wrong but never in doubt
Brenda and I walked together for a few miles. The signs didn’t look right. I felt sure this was not the recommended yellow-gold color-coded path in my Brierley guide book and suggested this to my walking companion. The self-assured businesswoman was not going to back down and snipped, “I don’t know what your American guide book says." Again she insisted she was right and kept walking. Ahead of me.
There’s a saying on the Camino. “Never go back.” I should have trusted my gut and turned back, but by that time I thought it was too late. Yet, I had already broken that rule the day before by retrieving my hiking poles. Turning back would have saved me time in the long run. Furthermore, “this was not the pretty way,” I remembered my late boss, publisher Janet Chusmir, of the Boulder (Co.) Daily Camera newspaper was known to say in giving driving directions.
I’m learning the hard way. I'm giving you this good advice: don’t follow unless you are certain of the leadership ability and good decision-making capability of those you chose to follow. Good advice in a presidential election year.
Checking into alberque with single cots:
It was awful walking 13 miles without shade today. Passing through San Martin I stop to take a photo for Bob Martin whom I first met - along with his saintly wife, Rita - on the first SMA mission trip to Guatemala. Of course, I thought of Joe Kelly, too, since he was the impetus for this journey.
Arriving in Villadangoes del Paramo I registered at the municipal hostel offering 85 single cot beds. What a blessing not to have the upper bunk, or the one below having to duck low just not to hit my head on the top railing. Another privilege was a window ledge to spread out contents of my backpack. I shared the ample space with the pilgrim next cot over. More of this episode in the days ahead.
This was a opportunity for me to take everything out of my backpack and wash about ten items. Today was sunny. Blessed be an afternoon without a rain cloud in sight. These clothes were still not as clean as they would be from my washing machine at home. Occasionally, machines are available but often I chose not to spend the 7 to 12 euros it would cost - upwards of $13.00 U.S. per day.
I even cleaned my Platypus water container having previously feared it would be swimming with algae. It wasn’t. I also was concerned the bottom of the backpack was moldy since I had not properly sealed the Platypus on more than one occasion. It wasn't either.
I was surrounded by a group of Asian women, who used lotions that smelled like eucalyptus. With my eyes closed I imagined a spa. Ah. Heavenly.
Even though I like to cook, and here there are adequate cooking facilities, I figure it was not worth it for one person. I recall the rusted can of mushrooms a few days back and realized I’d dodged a bullet. I found a tienda nearby and purchased a freshly made tuna empanada, a bag of green Spanish olives and a non-alcohol beer.
I’m one of the first in bed for the evening. The Melaxicam was not relieving my foot pain with, or without the supposedly magical European gel Voltadol