Day 12: Belorado to Villafranca Monte de Oca

I walked through cave country imagining tens of thousands of years of human occupation, scanning the cliffs for openings that would make a good home, a church, a retreat, a trap. I was not disappointed! I only did seven miles today, partly to spend those precious morning hours birding along river banks and woods, and partly to just take in this great landscape of rock, field, and hill.

Cave country! 

Most pilgrims respect another's preference for solitude, but today I met the one, a fellow American, who didn't quite get the idea that the Camino is a deeply personal experience. Sure, early Catholics went in their search for relics and collected indulgences, and modern pilgrims can check boxes off as they encounter religious sites of significance (travel companies will give the check-off list). But for most pilgrims I met, the experience of the Camino is to enjoy this rugged country with its reds, and browns, and greens - it's unbelievabley kind people who greet you with their handsome smiles. But this particular pilgrim from America wasn't buying it. "Nobody speaks American here." And so began my one hour of penance...

Rock shelters and a Hermitage.  

She was my age, accompanying her 25 year-old daughter to "protect her from Mexicans." I thought I was hearing things. Her daughter, plugged into her iPod was oblivious to the conversation. She didn't think it wise that a young girl travel alone in a foreign country. Never mind the hundreds of women who do the Camino alone each year. She talked about being concerned because a woman from Arizona was killed here last year. "Yes, on average 17 people die on the Camino each year, " I said helpfully. " My god what a violent place!" she said.

I check another stork nest for my tally - up to 32.

I explained that last year's murder was an anomaly, that this kind of crime was really quite rare. Most people are hit by trucks and cars crossing busy roads or have heart attacks or strokes due to the excursion. "Well," she said, " I didn't know that. No one tells you anything. They can't speak American. " I tried looking for birds, walking painfully slowly, hoping she would want to catch up with her daughter. But....no.

Cliff-built church.

"This place is pretty empty, don't you think? Wouldn't it be a good idea to deport all those illegals here where they understand the language? It's a Mexican country, right?" I wanted to run and hide. Was she serious? Meanwhile the beautiful cliffs and ornate cave churches passed by, unnoticed by this woman, even as I tried to point them out. I offered her my binoculars. She looked up through her head net and squinted into the sun. I suggested she enjoy the landscape. " Human evolution is an incredible story," I said, maybe too enthusiastically. "Oh no! That's what Common Core wants to teach our kids!" I was done. I started limping. Totally faking it.

Gothic churches mark every town.

I had to ask. "Do you have a reason for doing the Camino, besides protecting your daughter from Mexicans?" She gave it some thought. A huge, massive gothic church came into view and she pointed at it. "Jesus!" I wasn't sure if that was her answer. By now my fake limp had become worthy of a Hollywood movie stunt. I hobbled to the church where there was a bench. I collapsed on to it and said "Oh, this tendonitis!" She looked at me, then ahead to her oblivious plugged-in daughter now a good half mile ahead. "Jesus and Donald Trump will make America great again." She left me fake-groaning on the bench and fast walked to catch up. I ducked inside the church and asked God for forgiveness . Then I went back to birding, blissfully alone all the way to Villafranca Monte Oca.

So here are my thoughts for today:

All of the Americans I've met so far on this hike have been intelligent, aware of Spain's complicated history, and very excited to meet and be with people from all over the world. When we visit another country, even if we can't speak the language, we learn something valuable about each other's cultures, values, and hopes for the future. The lady I met today was, like the murder of a pilgrim last year, an anomaly. She carried all of her fears and biases heavily on her frame like an extra 60 pound pack. This weight is unnecessary and most painful. I prayed that she and her daughter might shed some of their ignorance and open their eyes and ears to this incredible experience.

The Camino pilgrim experience is meant to be highly personal -some like to say spiritual, others say religious. The top three questions when meeting someone new ( this can mean a dozen times a day) are:

What is your name?
Where are you from?
Why are you doing the Camino?

I haven't heard anyone say they are doing it to gain access to heaven, or to see relics of saints, or to do penance - though there is one young man walking with a social worker from Norway who was given the Camino as his alternate prison term. What I have heard a lot of is to find themselves again, as if they've become lost. I can relate.

The Camino is not easy. It is not a fixed trek from point A to point B everyday. You have to make decisions and prepare. Sometimes the way is brutally long. Sometimes you run out of water. The next town might be deserted when you thought you might find a place to eat or sleep. There are hard days of hiking steep ups and downs, long boring days of dust and sun, or mud and rain. There is no tour guide to take you to your hotel and seat you at the restaurant. You don't understand the menu and you find your stomach rebels at certain foods.

Spain is a country that can barely contain itself. There are the fiercely independent autonomous regions. There are four official languages. There are as many ways to say Hello, Good Day, as there are innumerable dialects and you will always pick the wrong one. But here's what the Camino teaches you, stumbling, shuffling, aching pilgrim: the Spanish people love you for trying, and happily answer with a smile as big as the sky "Buen Camino!" They invite you into their homes (casa rural) and offer their kitchens to cook a dinner. They don't care if you are German, Italian, Brazilian, Canadian, Danish, Irish, Scottish, or Hungarian. They really don't give a rat's behind if you think your country is the greatest or the most powerful. They want you to rest from your hard day, come sit and read, relax. Stay today and if you like, tomorrow. But don't wear out your welcome. Keep going.

The Camino is not about Santiago de Compostela at the end. It's a powerful stop along the way, yes. But it's about the continuation of this journey beyond the Cathedral and the Pilgrims Mass and the mighty, smoke- belching incense burner that flies high over your head. This is how God wants us to be - in and of the world, to love it now, here, the hard parts especially. The Camino is a metaphor for our journey here on Earth. A journey from hiding in caves from packs of wolves and running through gangs of thieves-  to realizing, as I hope lady in her head net does, that we are all in this together.   What better way to walk the path of life than in kindness and humility for all we are given every day.

Day. 11: Santo Domingo to Belorado

Santo Domingo offered this pilgrim a wonderful experience of a kind, unhurried city. A shout from a Brit friend on a balcony three stories up alerted me to the Corregidor Hotel, a famous backpackers hotel right on the narrow street to the church. I couldn't resist the idea of my own bathroom, fresh towels, and private room! For 30 euro!

Crossing Rio Oja out of Santo Domingo.   

After a luxurious bath in a tub where I actually could stretch completely out inside, I went out for homemade pasta and a beer. Outdoor cafes are everywhere and I enjoyed the time watching elders stroll arm-in-arm, parents walking their children home from school, and fellow pilgrims laughing over stories of the day.

Restored to life in Santo Domingo!  

You can look up the legend of the chickens of Santo Domingo yourself, but the tradition of regenerative kindness is real in this city. It is true for all of the Camino for me. The power of a kind word, the offer to carry a heavy pack up three flights of stairs, a free Coca-Cola passed across tables at a cafe to a tired pilgrim - this is my experience on the Camino. Boundless kindness and hospitality. There is no fear of the stranger. There are, quite simply, no strangers. All are family.

Endless wheat.    

The next morning I hiked across the Rio Oja back into the tablelands of wheat and bright fields of snow pea. I passed through the last of La Rojia into the next autonomous region of Castillo Y Leon. Like the Basque Country there is a new language to learn (Spain has four official languages!) I had to consult my Google Translation app to learn Catalan for Good Morning ( Bon Dia!) and Thank You (Gracies).

Welcome to Castille y Leon!

The terraced hills show more exposed rock and I notice hints of caves and canyons. This is getting exciting now. I'm coming into country that I've read a lot about - where our own ancient human origins are even now being discovered. The tablelands and their endless fields of wheat begin to show their roots.

Catalan color and mud and stone architecture.  

I caught up with some of my original Camino family from SJPP!  Bob, Marie, and Claire from Vermont made for excellent hiking partners all the way to our night's rest in the cliff-town of Belorado. We met a Camino dog who stole our hearts with his clever game of catch.

Camino dog!   

Belorado is a stunning town. It dates to Roman times, BC, yet it is vibrant, magical, happy, and full of fun. You can go to YouTube to find some of the traditional dances held here. The church and Hermitage are built into the cliffs, and caves - some used by early hominids tens of thousands of years ago - are easily hiked up to.

Storks nest on the bell tower of the cliff-built church.  

Hermitage from 11th century. 

Cave country! 

Medieval castle ruins - Moors and Christians battled here. 

Gilded retablo of the church. 

Belorado plaza with grafted sycamore arbor.

Now I'm coming into country I really want to slow down for. The area has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its spectacular paleolithic and paleontology digs. I'll take the next few days a little slower, reading the landscape more closely as I approach Burgos. I love geology, archeology, and paleontology, and I'm a great reader of human evolutionary science. Between the great birding and ancient landscape, I plan to take it all in before my rest day in the city and a visit to the Museum of Human Evolution in a few days!

My thoughts for the day:
Many pilgrims report that after the pain of the first hundred miles, they begin to talk to things like animals, trees, rocks, and clouds. I always talk to these things when I hike. It's nice to know I'm not alone! I said Buenos Dias to a sheep today. She had a bell around her neck and her shepherd with his very big dog waited politely at the crest of a hill for our conversation to end. She looked into my eyes and seemed to say "How nice of you to stop, pilgrim!" She gave her bell a shake. The shepherd waved to me, I waved back, and the sheep ambled back to her flock.

I know of a pilgrim far ahead of me, maybe finished by now, who has been talking to trees.  "I can hear their conversation in the wind, " he wrote on his FB page.  Only his non-hiking friends left teasing comments, but his Camino friends responded with agreement.

"Wait for me," said St. Francis on his pilgrimage, " I must go preach to my sisters, the birds." For me, it is the birds each morning who sing up the sun. "I've never heard birds like this before, " said a hiking friend today.