Back to School - En Espanol!

Back to School - En Espanol!   January 30, 2015

Our Spanish language school here in Pana is called Jabel Tinamit, which means "beautiful town" in one of the Mayan languages.  The owners and all of the staff are Mayan.  It's a very professional, well-organized business, located in a lovely new building around an interior garden. Definitely a step up from the school that we attended three years ago.  It's owned by a young couple (a year or so younger than our oldest son!), Candelaria and Gregorio, who began their business modestly 17 years ago.   Candelaria told us her life story last week during a cooking class.  It's pretty amazing and very inspirational. 

                  The Jabel Tinamit School front entrance

When Candelaria was a child, it was not common for girls in the Mayan community to be educated beyond the 3rd grade, just enough for them to learn to read and write.   Even that was a hardship for many families due to the cost for uniforms and school supplies.  However, she was allowed to continue her eduation, eventually graduating from high school.

Being the eldest child, Candelaria felt enormous responsibility to do well in school.  And she obviously did!  She has completed university and is hoping to begin a Master's in Social Work program.  

In the meantime, Candelaria and Gregorio have built this extremely well-run school with curriculum that they have created so that the lessons are consistent among the various "maestros and maestras" (teachers).   My teacher, Carmelina, is a young woman whom C & G helped in school with a scholarship. C & G are "paying it forward" in many ways.  

                        Candelaria teaching a cooking class.

As for our daily routine, we arrive at school at 7:45 am, have a quick coffee, perhaps do a quick check of email, since there is internet access, and then ascend the stairs with our tutor to a beautiful, airy, plant-filled private space where we will spend the next 4 hours chatting and listening in Spanish, learning verbs and expressions and much about life in Guatemala for indigenous people.  We are loving it!  

Carmelina, my teacher, is unmarried and helps out at home a great deal.  In every spare moment, waiting for the bus, riding on the bus, Carmelina is studying English, using her "device" (Ipad?) to listen and practice.  Soon she will begin university classes on Saturdays, in addition to her teaching job.  

                                    mi maestra, Carmelina

Carmelina, I must say, is not only very hard-working but also extremely patient!  We chat and chat - in Spanish - which is laborious for me and must be painful for her to listen to.  But she never waivers in her good humor.  This is an example of a story that she told me:

Yesterday was harvest day on the small plot of land that her family owns outside of the pueblo.   Her mother and an aunt and two cousins went to harvest the corn.  Her younger sister stayed at home to cook a special meal of thanksgiving for the harvest. 

Enough corn is collected during this one-day harvest to last the family for a whole year.  They hire someone to scrape the kernels from the cobs.  The cobs are then dried and used as fuel for their fire.  The kernels are dried and used, little by little, every day for tortillas.  A neighbor woman has a special grinding machine to grind up the kernels for masa, the dough used for tortillas.  Carmelina's mother and other neighbors take their corn kernels to her each morning, as the tortillas must be freshly made each day.  Tortillas are a very basic part of the Mayan diet, not only for their nutritional value but also for their historical and spiritual value.  They are served at every meal, and people don't feel satisfied if they have not had their tortillas.  Similar, I guess, to the idea that bread is the staff of life.  

                 Calla lilies on the table in the patio at school

Back at school, we have a brief "pausa" (break) in the middle of the morning when we all congregate around the patio area for a small snack and a relaxing chat with friends in English.  Right now the other students are mostly American, many of them in our age range, although the school offers online Spanish lessons to students of all ages all over the world.  The schedules are very flexible, since the sessions are individual and the school is open 7 days a week.  We have signed up for 2 weeks full-time (5 days a week) and will continue after that for 2 days a week.  

                          View from the terrace of the school

After our pausa, we are back at it for another two hours.  It's intense, and we're definitely dragging by noon, when we emerge onto the bright street, busy with foot traffic and tuk-tuks, to return to our casa for the mid-day meal.  

Before we began our Spanish school experience, we were asked if we wanted homework, and we said "Si".  So each afternoon and/or evening, we do our homework.  It's actually helpful to review what we've learned and practiced during our tutoring session.  And the amount of homework is not strenuous, leaving us time to participate in activities that the school organizes for its students, such as the weekly cooking class or a class trip to market. 

Candelaria and Gregorio are an upbeat, intelligent, friendly force for good in this community, offering a great product to Spanish learners.  It's a pleasure to be among their students at Jabel Tinamit, and we are giving our aging brains quite a work-out!

           Bruce and his teacher, Florinda, studying in the garden!

Mi Casa Es Su Casa

Mi Casa Es Su Casa        January 24, 2015 

According to our Lonely Planet guide book on Guatemala, Lake Atitlan was described by 19th century traveler John Stevens as "the most magnificent spectacle that we ever saw".  Stephen Benz, writing in his compelling 1996 book, Guatemalan Journal, stated that he hated to repeat what so many others had already said but, despite himself, had to admit that Lake Atitlan was the most beautiful lake in the world!  In 2011, we had briefly passed through Panajachel, a town of 20,000 inhabitants, located on the eastern end of the lake and found the vista of the lake and surrounding misty blue volcanoes to be an amazing sight.

Bruce and I are now staying in Pana, as it's called, for several weeks. The town itself is much more "real" than pretty Antigua.  It's rather dusty and filled with fading posters attached to cement walls and many empty or half built storefronts, lots of big "chicken" buses disgorging workers and students while the drivers' assistants yell the next destination out to the public amidst clouds of exhaust smoke.  

             Not something we would have seen in Antigua :) 

This street near our school still has its Christmas decorations.

The streets and sidewalks are always busy, and vegetables and meat are grilled, sold, and eaten outside on the street.  Little boys roam around trying to convince you that your shoes need shining, even though you're wearing sandals or sneakers.  Most of the inhabitants are handsome indigenous Mayans, dressed in their gorgeous handwoven garments, the women usually with an infant hanging from their shoulders, wrapped in a colorful cloth.  Poverty is everywhere; and with poverty come ubiquitous hustlers, who are often difficult to dissuade, since their situation pulls on your heartstrings and since they are persistent. 

     Lots of tuk-tuks ply the streets picking up passengers.

  On weekends, especially, the main drag is lined with Mayan vendors selling "tipica" from temporary stalls or just wandering up and down the street trying to convince passers-by that they need their beautiful products.   Despite the incredible photo ops all around me, I remain timid about taking pictures of Mayan people, having read - and experienced once or twice - that they are sensitive about this.  This doesn't mean that I won't ever, but for now, I will post a photo of a lovely handwoven tablecloth in a resto.

Over the years Pana has attracted a fairly large population of ex-pats, mostly Americanos, many of them looking decidedly like aging hippies.  Bruce describes them as having been "washed up here ".   I'm sure that the inexpensive cost of living, as well as the pleasant climate, the lovely people, and the chance to volunteer in a meaningful way make it an attractive location for retirees.  

We had decided to study Spanish here for 2 weeks at the only Mayan-run school, called Jabel Tinamit.  As is often the case with Spanish language schools in Guatemala, an opportunity to live with a local family is available, too.  This offers the students inexpensive housing as well as a chance to practice the language.  It offers the family a source of income.  We love getting to know people this way and looked forward to meeting our new family, albeit with a tiny bit of trepidation, as with any new venture.  Boy, did we luck out!  Our family is lovely; their home is lovely; the location is quiet and secluded, reached by a serpentine series of twists and turns down narrow passageways that, at first, left us wondering if we'd ever find our way out again!  

       Just inside the cement wall is Ana's lawn and house.  

Ana, our hostess, is a widow who lives with her 22 year old daughter, Eloin, who is a nursing student.  They are delightful conversationalists and great cooks, who feed us three times a day!   We are the only students there at the moment and so are enjoying their full attention at meal time, as we stumble our way through Spanish explanations of our lives and interests.  They are very experienced at having gringos in their home and are patient and willing to share their own lives with us, despite the fact that they must have done this many times over the years.  

                                      Ana and Eloin

Ana and Eloin live a quiet (tranquillo) life.  Eloin attends university classes only on Saturday, due to financial constraints.  She is half way through her training to become a nurse and absolutely loves it.  Apparently she is an excellent student, and her classmates look to her for encouragement.  Classes run from late January until mid December each year, with a few weeks off early in the year.  Today was the first day for her classes to resume at the only public university in the area, and she was up early to catch the bus to Solola, a bigger city about 1/2 hour away.  

Ana is a sensitive, fun, intelligent person who makes ends meet by selling items from a catalogue, as well as hosting students.  She has 2 older sons who live in Guatemala City and has raised these 3 kids on her own since her husband, a French native, was killed in a car accident many years ago.  The family is not Mayan, so probably would be called ladino (a mix of Spanish and indigenous).  
The third member of the family is Tabu, a mini-schnauzer, whom Eloin rescued from the streets.  Tabu greets us with a wiggly playfulness every time that we enter the property.  I'm not sure that his bark would deter intruders, so the big black door in the white cement block fence that surrounds the property is kept locked at all times.  

Bruce's new friend

                                     Security!   (and privacy)   

It was just a week ago that we arrived in Pana.  Our days have flown by with intense language instruction and other activities, such as a cooking class, meeting other students, taking a chicken bus to Solola to visit the big market, doing homework, as well as writing this blog!  We feel very lucky to be in a warm climate with a professional school and a wonderful family.  
                       More on the school to follow!       

Charley and Jordie

Charlie and Jordie              January 22, 2015

As many of you know, Bruce and I volunteered at Safe Passage for  2 months in the fall of 2011.  Safe Passage is an after-school project that serves the children and families who live in the extremely impoverished area of the Guatemala City dump.  It was begun by Hanley Denning, a young woman from Maine, who wanted to help these young children stay out of the dangerous and toxic dump where many of their mothers make a living by picking through the trash.  From its very humble beginnings on the edge of the dump, the program has grown in the last 15 years to serve nearly 550 children, preschool through high school. Since local schools last for only a half day, Safe Passage provides after school services, such as enrichment classes, help with homework, mentoring, English classes, nutritious meals, social worker services, etc., as well as funding to buy the uniforms and school supplies needed to attend school.   In the last 3 years, Safe Passage has initiated their own school where instruction can be delivered in a progressive manner.  At this point, grades K-3 are offered, with a new grade being added each year.

Last year, our church, First Parish UCC of Gorham, decided to sponsor a child at Safe Passage by contributing to the support of his schooling.  At the same time, Bruce and I decided to sponsor a child ourselves.  First Parish's child is Jordie, age 10, and our child is Charley, age 8.  Well, last Thursday we got to meet these two boys!  At noon, Safe Passage staffer, Sabrina, a Guatalmateca, drove us from the Antigua office to Guatemala City, a distance of about 25 miles.  We were relieved to have her with us for the whole afternoon, as she is bilingual, well acquainted with the boys, and familiar with Guatemala City.  It was a bit nostalgic to drive over the familiar highway that I had traveled every day on the big yellow SP school bus three years ago.  Traffic moved along quickly on the modern divided highway, descending down, down into the valley of 2 million people.  All manner of commercial and non-commercial establishments lined the highway - car washes, gas stations, Christian Academies, fast food joints, new car showrooms, gated condo projects, and small, rusty, tin-sided structures with smoke leaking out of the eaves.  As we neared the school, the streets became narrow and shabby, crowded with kids in neat uniforms returning home from school, vendors selling produce, dogs sniffing for tidbits of food, people buying groceries from small tiendas or just hanging out with friends. At the door to Safe Passage, mothers clustered around the entrance, waiting for their children to emerge.  Guards flanked the doorway.  Their uniforms lent an air of security.

Upstairs, outside of his classroom, Charley was waiting for us.  He is a friendly, warm, easy-going kid whose face lit up as he saw us. Since he is in third grade, he attends school all day at Safe Passage.  Jordie, being a bit older, had spent the morning at another school, but soon arrived to join us.   He is very slight and more reserved but just as warm.  His mother had come along with him, and she greeted us with a kiss on the cheek, as is the custom.  Since Charley is in the same grade as the kids that I worked with in kindergarten at Safe Passage when I was here 3 years ago, I recognized some of the other kids.  It was so satisfying to see them having grown and looking well and more mature - and to know that they are still involved in the program.

The boys were given a choice of where we would eat lunch.  Sabrina had alerted us to the fact that, like kids most everywhere, it would be either McDonald's or Pollo Campero, Guate's answer to Colonel Sanders. Jordie let Charlie decide.  Mickey D's it was!

           Bruce, Charley, Jordie, & Sabrina order at McDonald's

                             Lunch out with the boys!

Lunch and the car ride gave us a chance to chat with the boys and learn a little more about them.  Both boys are learning musical instruments, which are available at Safe Passage.  Jordie is learning to play the guitar and the piano, while Charley is learning the drums, fitting choices for their personalities, it seemed.  When Bruce shared his fiddle playing experience and then the boys asked me what I play, I began to feel like a slacker!  I was forced to reveal my sad little attempt to play the penny whistle, loosely translated as "flauta", a much more elegant-sounding instrument.

We also learned that both boys enjoy "futbol" (American soccer) and have their favorite teams - Argentina and Barcelona.  Bruce and I had been in Spain last year during some of the big matches between Barcelona and Real Madrid and could understand the futbol passion, which makes America's devotion to football pale by comparison!

Neither boy could finish their big Big Mac's and so wrapped them up for later.  We presented the boys with small gifts.  Charley donned his New England Patriots cap right away.  Next stop was the Aurora Zoo, which is located near the airport.  I had seen it as we passed by, just after our arrival the previous week.  I'm not a big fan of zoos, usually, as I find it quite sad to see animals confined in small spaces.  This one was surprisingly nice.  Our first encounter was with the giraffes, which were amazingly tall and elegant.  From a high viewing platform, we were nearly face to face as one of them walked right over to us.  I had never been this close to the grand creatures.  Bruce and I were as excited as the boys!

Other animals included a lion and a tiger, each in their own grassy enclave at a distance from us.  The llama and goats, by contrast, came right up to a fence where we could have touched them.  Bruce reminded us that llamas spit, which kept us moving along.

Exotic, fierce-looking porcupines munched on cabbages, with their needles raising our own hackles.

The penguins were a big hit and were so lively, swimming in a glass-sided aquarium, that they made us all happy.

It was after 4pm by the time that we headed back to Safe Passage.   We were all a bit tired and it was a quiet ride.  The mom's were waiting for us at the school.  Charley's younger sister and brother were all excited smiles and big eyes.  We went into the foyer to make introductions and to take a couple of group photos - and then to say our thank you's and our good-byes.  Jordie gave Bruce a big hug and asked when he would return.  Luckily we could say at the end of February.  Jordie's mom told us the story of Jordie having received a bunch of cards from the Sunday School kids at First Parish and being so touched that he had wept and said that now he knew he was loved by lots of people far away.  We left with lumps in our throats.

It felt like a very successful trip, thanks to both the superb organization and kindness of the Safe Passage staff but also to the nice kids and families that have been assigned to us.

Football, Wabi Sabi, and Volcanoes

Football, Wabi Sabi, and Volcanoes       January 11, 2015

We could have been anywhere in the USA, sitting at a bar surrounded by multiple huge TV screens broadcasting the football game, New England Patriots vs. the Baltimore Ravens.   A few fans wore Patriots t-shirts or Boston caps and yelled in English at the Patriots' mess-ups.  Upon closer inspection, however, one might notice that Bruce and I were drinking Moza beer, a dark Guatemalan brew, and one of the bar tenders and a sprinking of fans were clearly Latino.  We were, in fact, watching the game at Mono Loco (Crazy Monkey), a bar in Antigua, Guatemala.  This had been one of Bruce's Sunday afternoon hang-outs when we were in Antigua in 2011, and he was eager to see the first game in the play-offs there.  I went along because it seemed like the right thing to do :).  Despite being a non-football person, I had a pretty good time, watching the crowd, chatting with a couple from Maine who have a home in Antigua, even getting caught up in the excitement of the game. When the close game ended in favor of the Patriots and after the jubilation had died down, we stepped out of the bar at 6:30 pm and into another world, far from the frigid New England winter. It was a warm evening and the cobble-stoned streets were filled with strolling couples, groups of families, little kids, horse-drawn carriages toting tourists, aromas of food wafting from the many restaurants, little white lights magically encircling the trees surrounding the fountain in the parque central (central park), the sounds of music lifting from simple instruments.  We were pretty happy.

                   street musicians in Antigua, Guatemala

 Guatemala is known as "the land of eternal spring".  The weather in January certainly reminds us of June in Maine, without the rain.  The dry air warms up to around 75 during the day and drops to the low 50's at night.  Because the cement houses are unheated and open to the weather in places, I've come better prepared for chilly bedrooms than during our last visit - and thus have been toasty warm at night!

We are definitely beginning this year's adventure on a slow note, getting acclimated to the high altitude (around 5400 feet), reacquainting ourselves with the city and the language and customs, while trying to recover from a cold that sideswiped me just as we were leaving Maine. This means afternoon naps and lots of quiet reading.  Luckily, we landed in a lovely home which Bruce had found on AirBnB.  It's a colonial-style Spanish house, being rented and run as a B&B by a young Japanese couple who have also opened a Japanese resto, Origami, around the corner.  They had been backpacking around the world and fell in love with Antigua so decided to stay here for a while.  That was 3 years ago.

           one of the many colonial churches in Antigua

Miwa and Kohei are not alone in their love of Antigua.  I've been trying to figure out why I, too, enjoy this city so much.  Certainly the beautiful 16th century architecture has a lot to do with it, as well as the gorgeous bright colors of the buildings, their human-scale height (nothing over 2 stories tall), the vibrant magenta bourgainvilla that hangs over crumbling brick walls,  the ancient sound of church bells ringing out.  I love the fact that the city has just the right degree of scruffiness - for me, anyway. It's a perfect example of wabi-sabi, the Japanese aesthetic that describes an imperfect appearance that comes from age and use.  Much of Antigua is weathered and old and has a patina that only centuries can bring.  There is obviously a high degree of respect for its history here.  It hasn't been gussied up.  In fact, the UN noticed and designated Antigua as a World Heritage Site.  Where it has been modernized in order to fill the expectations of the many ex-pats and tourists, it has been done in accordance with the natural, worn look of the city.  There is a calmness here;  no big trucks are allowed on the old cobble streets and cars are slowed by the bumpy surface.  However, loud firecrackers do break the calm and startle us, a peculiarly Latin occurrence, it seems.  In the distance, three volcanoes look down on the city, Volcan de Agua, Volcan de Fuego (aptly named, since it is still active), and Vulcan Acatenango.

                    one of our favorite restos, reflecting wabi-sabi

                                one of the colors I love

Among the 35,000 residents of Antigua, 3000 are "from away", half being Americans and half from other nations. In addition, there are lots of young folks here temporarily, drawn to the many inexpensive Spanish language schools.  It's a cosmopolitan place with as many restos, per capita, as Portland, I'm sure, all tucked into the colonial buildings, often featuring a garden patio.  

The omnipresence of the handsome Mayan people, clinging so tenaciously to their strong family bonds and beautiful textile customs, makes all of Guatemala a rich culture, visually and spiritually. They crowd the parque central and other places, selling their lovely crafts. At the same time, there is a melancholy that permeates the atmosphere where Mayans congregate, knowing as we do, the sad history of their genocide, as well as the discrimination that continues to keep them impoverished to this day.  I read that Guatemala is the least Latino of the Central American nations, since nearly 50% of its population is made up of indigenous Mayans. 

Our B&B is designed like other Spanish homes:  from the sidewalk you see a blank wall, its expanse broken only by a windowless wooden door (and with a nod to modern life - a windowless garage door).  Inside, one finds a small garden with an old stone fountain (not operating) to one side and a place for a car on the other side.  Straight ahead an open foyer leads into the home, opening out into a large living room with fireplace (haven't seen that working yet but don't really need to) and a dining area, as well as a kitchen. There are 3 bedrooms that share a bath - and one bedroom off on the other side that has its own tiny bath (that's ours :).   At the back of the house is another little lawn and patio, surrounded by a 15 foot high wall for privacy and protection.  Up the outside stairs is a flat roof where we can sit and enjoy morning coffee or watch the stars - and hang laundry :).  So far, we have the house to ourselves most of the time.  The only other guests left the day after we arrived.   All of this for $35/night, including breakfast!

               the front garden and rooftop at our AirB&B

                            livingroom in our B&B

So, we'll be here for about a week. Then it will be time to go to Panajachel, about 40 miles away on Lake Atitlan.  That's where we will again "dream the impossible dream" of learning Spanish!  In the meantime, we will contact Safe Passage and try to meet Charlie and Jordie, two little boys whom we and our church are sponsoring.  

We miss you all but are settling into our new adventure, watching the sun set over Volcan de Agua, keeping an eye on the puffs of smoke that rise regularly from Volcan de Fuego, and marveling at this exotic land.  

                          Volcanoes Agua and Fuego

More on the Camino de Santiago

My friend, Deb Smith, an ardent follower of this blog - and also of Rick Steeves, the professional tourism writer, has forwarded this piece by Rick.  It's a wonderful description of Santiago and the phenomenon of the Camino.  Not long.  I think you'll enjoy it!

https://ricksteves-cms.herokuapp.com/watch-read-listen/read/articles/a-medieval-pilgrimage-in-modern-times

The English Way

The English Way                    April 29, 2014

"Buen viaje, buen camino", smiled the cafe waiter that first morning as we set out from our hotel. It had been light for only a half hour, though it was 8am.  We had drunk our cafe con leches and eaten our croissants, organized our backpacks,  filled our water bottles.  Our "camino passports" had been stamped by the tourist office the day before.  We were as ready as we could be, given that we hadn't really planned this experience before leaving Maine in January. But here we were in El Ferrol, in the very northwestern corner of Spain. It is the starting point for the Camino Ingles, the English Way, one of the ancient pilgrimage routes leading to Santiago de Campostela, 80 miles away. We intended to walk to the cathedral in Santiago, along a path marked by bright yellow scallop shells pointing the way.  We expected that it would take us 6-7 days.

Why, you might ask, would we do this?   "It's hard to explain", the author Jack Hitt had written in Off the Road, his memoir about walking the camino frances, the more popular - and much longer - way, starting in France. "It's a calling," our Alozaina friend, Alice, had said.  For Bruce and me, when we really thought about it, there were several factors propelling us toward this experience.  Yes, there was that vague, undefinable pull, but we also knew that we wanted to retrace the historical steps of the ancient pilgrims on their spiritual quest, to simplify our life for a brief interlude by traveling in the old way - on foot - with the barest necessities carried on our backs, to be outside in the beautiful Galician spring countryside, and to test ourselves physically and mentally. Neither of us had ever hiked more than a day at a time, and even that was a rare event.  But this promised to be do-able, we thought, with lodging and cafes in towns along the way - and plenty of time to stop and rest if we needed to.   This was April 3 and we weren't due to depart for home from Madrid until April 15.

It had rained heavily the night before starting off, and the day was damp and gray and cool, a typical day in Galicia.  Galicia, as we discovered, is very different from the other regions that we had visited in Spain. Unlike Andalucia, it's often rainy.  Its terrain is lush and green, reminding us of Ireland and England - and Maine!   It's heritage is Celtic, and we heard bagpipes playing in Santiago and saw lots of silver Celtic knotwork jewelry in the stores.  The Galician language, on the other hand, is related to Portuguese, which makes sense, given that it's next door to Portugal.  The word for street is not calle, as in Spanish, but rua. Both Galician and Spanish are the official languages of this semi-autonomous region.

So, on April 3, full of anticipation, we headed out to the waterfront path in El Ferrol, in the direction that our rough map described, looking for our first scallop shell to confirm that we were on the right path.  El Ferrol is a Navy base, and we could see a small aircraft carrier in the harbor. In fact, in a funny life coincidence, Bruce had stopped in El Ferrol when he was in the US Navy, 45 years ago.  His ship had pulled in there to refuel on its way from the Mediterranean to England. Being the only Spanish speaker on board, he had been called upon to do some of the talking with the Spanish officials.

Finding our first shell marker in Ferrol was cause for celebration!  From there, the way led along the water, around a traffic round-about, past a shopping center on a nice walking trail, with views of the water on one side, past a couple of tethered horses munching green grass.  So far, so good.  My balky hip was hurting but I was trying a variety of strategies to minimize the discomfort, including standing up straighter, as my mom had always urged me to do!  I had begun the day with Advil that Matt had left for me.

We spent that first morning making our way around the huge inlet of the river.  The path took us to two towns and two cities, always in sight of the water.  Lunch was a sandwich that we had bought at a grocery store, eaten beside one of the many hillside springs that we were to encounter along the way.  As we ate, an older man drove up and filled big plastic bottles with fresh water.

The afternoon took us through woods and small, medieval hamlets.  The day had brightened up with blue skies and fluffy white clouds, though darker ones lurked always in the distance. We saw no other pilgrims that day, and it was a peaceful excursion.  Our destination was the old city of Pontedueme, situated on an estuary near the ocean.  Unlike the original pilgrims, modern day pilgrims are outfitted with smart phones, a handy new device for Bruce and me.  He called ahead and found a room for us.  It was a very long hike (around 15 miles), and we dragged into our little pensione in the late afternoon, thirsty for a beer and ready for a lie-down.  Dinner happened to be the only bad meal that I've had in Spain, a Caesar salad filled with multi-colored pasta, in a place called The Beers Club.  I guess, with a name like that, it serves us right!  That night, we drifted off to sleep to the sounds of guitar-playing in the plaza below us and bells from the church on the hill. After a hot shower and a good night's sleep, we were relieved to find that we were none the worse for wear as a result of our inaugural pilgrim hike.

Pouring rain greeted us when we awoke, and we contemplated staying in our dry pensione for another day.  But during breakfast the rain tapered off to drizzle, and we decided to brave the elements. First, we bought all-purpose umbrellas, in case of more rain, as well as for warding off aggressive, unleashed dogs and for walking sticks.  Pushing on turned out to be a good decision, as the day again brightened up.  By the end of our seven miles, we had stripped down to shirtsleeves and had arrived at the seaside town of Mino.  Like Maine coastal towns, it was pretty quiet on an April afternoon.  We were the only guests in the hostal where we stayed, and it had the musty smell of a place that hadn't seen many occupants since the previous season.  We took a walk along the lovely golden sand beach, collecting tiny scallop shells and enjoying a stroll without our backpacks.  Supper was a picnic in our room.

The rest of our time on the camino was more social than our first two days.  We had a couple of very pleasant encounters with locals this next day, one a friendly owner of a pretty riverbank cafe in the village of Ponte de Porco.  She sent us off with the goodwill gesture of 4 packets of olive oil!  I couldn't help but wonder if the old, lichen-encrusted stone cross atop a statue of a pig was related to the name of the hamlet. Later Bruce got ahead of me on the trail and had a chat with an 80 year old man, dressed in his woolen sports coat, out for a walk with his perky, smiling 86 year old wife.  The man had worked in Germany for 20 years and complimented Bruce on his skill in speaking Spanish.  In the afternoon, we encountered a young mother who hailed us as we explored an old church yard.  She could tell that we were English-speaking (I'm still not sure how that works) and wanted to converse with us since she had "taken her engineering degree" in England.  She ended up offering to call a hotel for us in the next city.  The Galicians along the camino ingles couldn't have been nicer!

In Betanzos, the medieval capital of one of the Galician provinces, we met an Australian couple, Graham and Cheryl, who were walking the camino, too.  They became our friendly mentors and companions for the rest of our four days on the trail.  They had walked the camino frances, 500 miles in 42 days, last May, and had great tales of their experience.  Bruce took notes on their gear, and we both decided that the camino frances was not for us:  too long and too crowded with pilgrims.  Walking paces are individual things, and it's easy to get ahead or behind when walking with others.  But our pace was very similar to Graham and Cheryl's, and we really enjoyed their company.  Along the way, we also met a German couple, Axel and Janette, as well as another American couple from Minnesota.  We would meet up with them here and there, but they both had arranged to have their "stuff" transported for them each day.  We hadn't even realized that this was a possibility on the camino, and some would argue that it violates the true idea of a pilgrimage.  But, as Graham would say, we each do the camino in our own way.

I must mention one of the lodgings that we stayed in, Mezon Novo, located in Bruma or thereabouts.  It was run by 75 year old Antonio, his 78 year old wife, and their son, Antonio, Jr., a look-alike for Agent 007 actor, Daniel Craig.  They were the BEST hosts on the whole camino, transporting us from the trail to their hotel, serving us a delicious meal in their cafe, plying us with wine while they watched a futbol match on tv, turning up the heat in our rooms so that we could warm up from the chilly day and also dry our handwashing, returning us to the trail in the morning.  Mother and father had worked in England in their youth and could converse easily with us.  Despite their long days, 5am-10pm, they clearly love their jobs, working hard, and being independent business owners.

Our last morning began with rain again, with a dose of thunder and lightening.  However, by the time that we actually got on the trail, there was just a bit of drizzle, which quickly turned into sun and warmth for the last leg of our pilgrimage.  Still in the countryside, we ran into a herd of cows being led down the road by a man and wife, but signs of urbanization began to appear, including jet planes overhead from the nearby Santiago airport.  Once we hit Santiago,we stopped for congratulatory beers with Graham and Cheryl, then checked in at the small pilgrims reception center.   Our passports, filled with stamps from establishments along the way verified our pilgrimage, and we were awarded our certificates, written in Latin, confirming that we had completed at least 100 km of the camino.  It was a little anti-climatic.  While it was nice to have the certificate, the piece of paper could hardly convey the incredible experience of walking the land, feeling the rain and the sun, seeing the beauty of sea and woods and spring wildflowers and farms and old, old towns,  meeting interesting people with stories to tell, and discovering that we could actually still do something like this.  The human body is amazing, still ticking after all these years.  May they both be thus for a few more years!

The day after we arrived in Santiago, we attended mass at the beautiful large stone cathedral that dominates this lovely medieval city.  A special mass is held each day at noon for the pilgrims.  Santiago, St. James in English, was one of Christ's apostles who had spent time in Spain, spreading Christianity.  He was the first martyr, having been beheaded upon his return to Jerusalem in 44 AD.  His followers brought his body back to Spain, so the story goes, and buried him in the area where the cathedral now stands. For 800 years, his exact burial spot was unknown until a hermit discovered his bones.  When word got out, pilgrims began arriving from all over Europe, eventually making Santiago de Compostela the third most important Christian pilgrimage destination, after Rome and Jerusalem.  Today, in high season, we are told that 1500 pilgrims a day arrive in Santiago, most of them having walked the camino frances.  During mass, the statistics for that day are announced, noting the number of pilgrims who have arrived from each of the six routes and their nationality. On our day, the total was more like 200 pilgrims.  It's not high season yet.

Walking the camino ingles had been a wonderful way to complete our winter in Spain, giving us time to reflect and also to get ready for our return to Maine.  And now we were definitely ready to get back home to our friends and family.  In a mutual occurence of karma, both my laptop and my camera had died.   After taking 5000+ photos over the past 18 months, the poor camera went through an elecrical spasm of flashing lights and then went blank, sadly leaving me with no photos of the camino to share with you.  Time to go back home.  Besides, word had reached us that the snow was gone in Maine!

An Excerpt from Guest Blogger, Izik

 A Glimpse of Barcelona by Guest Blogger, Izik!       April 25, 2014

Our days in Barcelona included a variety of activities, planned by all four of us:  Bruce, Linda, Matt, and Izik.

Matt was eager to visit the aquarium, so we headed there on our first full day in Barcelona.

After completing an educational viewing of “Fish of the Mediterranean” at the Aquarium Barcelona, Linda, Matt and I emerged from the aquarium to realize we had lost Bruce along the way. We searched the waterfront a bit and concluded that he must
have made his way back to the apartment. 

Late afternoon was approaching, and in true Spanish style, it was time to seek lunch before our siesta. We thought this would be a good opportunity to seek out a place recommended by my friend,
Michael Fields. The restaurant is called Quimet, Quimet.  Michael describes it as “probably the most well regarded tapas restaurant on the planet. Be prepared to share your space with a lot of neighbors. It’s tiny, and most people stand/mingle throughout. Quimet, Quimet will be packed and customer service is not what they are known for, but worth the effort.”

We enjoyed a long walk across Barcelona (Linda and I describe the walk as “enjoyed” while Matt might have just stayed with “long”) and finally made it to Quimet, Quimet at 4:07 pm, only to realize that they close for siesta at 4.  We could hear movement inside, but they were clearly closed for an afternoon break.

Determined to find lunch, we took off toward the hotel and examined a few menus at the local tapas restaurants along the way. As we made our way through a Pakistani neighborhood, we stumbled across an interesting looking little spot called Caleuche. We were somewhat late for lunch, even by Spanish standards, but the gentleman running the restaurant was very accommodating and eager to help us through our broken Spanish (somewhat through a show-and-tell display of the
menu). Through a bit of inquiry, we realized we were about to enjoy some amazing-tasting food in a multi-cultural experience. The three Americans in Spain were eating Argentinian food, served by a man from Bangladesh, in a Chilean restaurant, in a Pakistani neighborhood. We enjoyed delicious empanadas and a round of
cervesas (beer).

Lunch at Calueche was amazing, and we vowed to attempt a return to Quimet, Quimet in the coming days.