"Que Sera Sera."

"Whatever will be will be" was the song a Hornillos Del Camino garage band played to a sparse audience of Pilgrims in a local bar last Friday night. It was  only 7:30pm. Apparently, on this very Senior Citizen version of Camino 2017, it was Lights-Out-Nighty-Night Time. 

As I've mentioned more than once, it's an older crowd here. A majority are recently retired folks who prepared themselves financially for the coming years. For these oldsters, the Camino is their step (many steps) into retirement. It's a Bucket List fulfillment. 

From what I'm noticing a goodly number might not have prepared themselves physically for the unrelenting monotony of walking Bigly distances on a daily basis. There's many who are overweight. It all adds up to a whooped, wounded mob. 

So how does this translate to me? 

Gone are the multi-cultural and multi-national Happy Hours. My H/D (Hugs/Day) average is a sluggish .153. The feel good intimacy of the past Camino's are now a sigh-full memory. Multitudes of walkers are now plugged into headphones and ear buds. Others are caressing their I-Phones as they text or talk their way through the Spanish countryside. This Camino features more Geritol drinkers than beer or wine quaffers. There's a higher percentage of folks attending Mass. 

In other words, it's a totally different Camino than my first two. 

So back to Doris Day's cheesy song and it's epiphany affect on me. While the band was strumming I thought to myself, "Self! You're in Spain which is a part of Europe. It's cool to be in Europe! You are eating good food and getting lots of exercise. You are drinking quality coffee in the morning and easy sipping lagers in the evening. You are sleeping in hotels fit for a Jewish Prince at less than Motel 6/Meth Lab prices. The weather has been mild and gentle. If I weren't walking here, I'd be walking somewhere else. I'll see this through to Finisterre and gaze at the surging Atlantic Ocean once again. It'll all work out and whatever will be will be. 

Besides, everyday I'm in Europe is one less day of living in the Dark Ages of America's current four year plight. I'm still reading the daily Tweets of President Lying Scumbag. Unfortunately, the US now seems foreign to me. 

From my Spanish viewpoint I'm hoping for another Saint Santiago intervention. The Miracle of Impeachment. 

Heck! If that were to happen, I'd even attend Mass. 

Cheers from Spain,

Jeff the Pilgrim

Last photo: another possible fix-er-upper I might possibly buy.

I don't remember ...

Much...

from my previous two Camino de Santiago's. It might be due to my advanced age. Or maybe it's a result of my love of Imperial IPAs (9% Alcohol by Volume) murdering my helpless brain cells. 

However, in reality I don't believe either excuse is true. 

I think the majority of the Camino is a monotonous landscape of tawny browns and hazy greens. This time of the year, I'm seeing a lot of field stubble. Every now and then, (rarely) we get to walk past tree farms.  There are times we negotiate our way through cities complete with noise, traffic, trash, used car dealerships, transients and junkyards. Not the stuff of pretty picture postcards. I'll say it bluntly. Many of the kilometers of the Camino are not awe inspiring or memorable. 

Now I'm beginning the famous/infamous Meseta section.  In my guidebook, “Walking 

the Camino de Santiago” by Davies and Cole, 30 pages of the 166-page book are

dedicated to this segment. An astonishing 143 miles of the 500 miles of the Camino 

takes place in this Kansas look-alike territory. The Meseta has a nasty reputation with

 descriptors such as endless flatness, desolate, strange, monotonous, barren, and the

 stretch most likely to be bypassed by pilgrims. My favorite thought on the Meseta is 

of walking through hell and escaping toward heaven when this incredible horizontal 

portion finally surrenders. I can honestly say I'm not grinning at the thought of taking 

It on once again. 

That being said, believe it or not, I'll take it slower this time. The distances between real towns are vast. I'm not up for the big 20-plus mile days like on my previous two transits. I'll spread my Euros around in tiny Bergs kept from going ghost by the infusion of Pilgrim cash. (I'm now in Hornillos Del Camino-population 56.) I'll take it easy.

So what do I remember from Camino I and II?

 I get deja vu's and memory snippets from the towns. Wasn't that the bar we had a huge multi-national Happy Hour crowd in? Didn't I meet so and so in this Plaza? Wasn't this the coffee shop where I made the elderly owner howl with my goofy pantomimes? Wasn't this the street corner where an attractive Spanish woman gave me a shy grin? 

 This is what I remember from my Camino's. It's about the people. It's  about smiling at strangers. It's  about being extra nice because it's the right thing to do. The Camino is about feel-good human interactions. That's why I'm walking my third Camino. It's not about the scenery. 

From the start of the Meseta,

(Don't expect beautiful photos!)

Salud,

Jeff

Who is this Apostle Saint James...

and why this Pilgrimage?

    The saga of James is a mixture of fact and fable with a large scoop of J.R Tolkien-like characters thrown into the blend.    

   Apostle James was last seen alive in Jerusalem, trying to convert the locals to a new religion. King Herod didn’t take kindly to this and had the young man’s head removed from the big part. (Present-day Mormon missionaries are lucky that this practice is now frowned upon.)  A few of James’ followers deposited the body and unattached head into a rudderless boat. James’ groupies hopped into the boat and went along for the ride. Somehow they arrive in Galicia in what is now western Spain. James’ flock spread out in search of a decent burial site for their former mentor. Now this is where the story gets really weird.

    They meet up with the very-pagan Queen Lupa. They plead their case and request a nice piece of property with perhaps a pleasant cathedral over it. She proceeds to set them up for failure against mean kings, unmanageable oxen and the inevitable fire-belching dragon. Of course our Hobbit-like heroes overcome all of these obstacles, and create many Christian converts along the way. Finally, the Apostle James gets his plot of dirt with a humble mausoleum above it.

    After all of this fussing, the grave whereabouts went missing for 800 years, until the hermit Pelayo had a “divine revelation” complete with “angels singing” and of course, “altar lights.” The remains were quickly established to be that of the Apostle Santiago (Saint James in Spanish). Thus one of the world’s first tourist attractions came into existence.

     Many famous people have trod the Camino since its inception in the 1100’s. Anthony Quinn walked the walk in 1999 while filming a TV show about the pilgrimage. I guess he felt compelled to do it; after all, he did play a Russian pope in “The Shoes of the Fisherman.”

    In 1994, Shirley MacLaine slept in hostels and spoke to fellow pilgrims. She went on to write a book named, “The Way, a Spiritual Journey.” I often wondered, with her belief in reincarnation, which Shirley MacLaine wrote the book.

    One of my favorite old-timey pilgrims was Aymeric Picaud, a French monk and curmudgeon who wrote the first travel guide of the Camino around 1140. It was called the Codex Calixtus. Mr. Picaud was a rather opinionated writer who didn’t hold back from calling a spade a spade. He lambasted most of the people he met along the way. He didn’t like the Basques at all, though for the most part, I’d consider him to be an equal opportunity racist. In my mind’s eye, I pictured him to be an Andy Rooney look-alike.

There's more myths and legends surrounding the Camino. 

   

    There’s a fable in Santo Domingo de la Calzada concerning German pilgrims, jilted lovers, vengeful magistrates and the usual intervention of good ol’ Santiago to save the day. Oh, yeah, there’s a footnote of two roasted chickens coming back to life to crow again. In other words, your typical miracle.

   Now in honor of those pollos, a few well-groomed barnyard animals hang out in a holy coop at the local cathedral. At the church, I was allowed access to gaze up at those blessed birds. (After making a 3€ "donation"). Another legend says, if you score a "Cock-a-Doodle-do" from the poultry; your Camino will be blessed with Good Vibes. I craned my head up to hear. Nada! But then again, I'm sort of deaf. 

That night I ate chicken for dinner.

Now you are sort of all caught up. 

From Villa Franca-Montes de Oca,

Salud,

Jeff