Liza Michaelson, my walking partner for another few days, sent the following notes and thoughts to group of her friends.  She allowed me to post it here:

I didn’t know Kim from Korea spoke any English. We have seen him walking really fast with a wooden staff, always alone. He smiles,waves, and nods his head. Right now he is sitting down with the meal he cooked for himself in the Gernicka hostel, and enjoying his bottle of red Spanish wine. When I saw him take a photo of his plate of salad, pork and eggs, I asked who he is sending photos to. I wasn’t sure if he would understand me, but he grinned widely and surprised me by saying, “My wife in Korea”.

He went on to explain in very few words that he recently retired after 35 years,and is finally getting to have this experience. He paused,sipped his wine,and finding the English, he looked in my eyes and said, “I like this time in me”.

We meet people in the various places we sleep,and then we pass them during the day while walking, and on the occasion we find ourselves in a restaurant, we always see fellow pelegrinos.

Most of the towns we are passing through are small, usually only one or two places to go out to eat, and they might be called a taverna or a bar.

In the Irun hostel I met a 55 year old half Vietnamese French woman who spoke no English at all. Using the map on the wall and lots of gestures, she told me her story. She started the Camino 5 years ago, but halfway through had to fly back to Toulouse because she got really sick. Holding her belly,she sticks out her tongue, looking quite ill. Last year she returned and started the journey where she had left off. At one point she was going along too fast, almost running in great leaps, when she tripped on her own hiking pole, and did a face plant; (demonstrated so dramatically on the kitchen floor of the hostel that For a moment I wondered if she was injured all over again) and had to go home. She shows me the airplane with her arms.This year she says, she started where she left off last time, right here, Irun on the Camino map,and this time she will walk carefully. She moves in slow motion; graceful ,contemplative strides across the small kitchen. She flashes a beautific smile and says in French just easy enough for me to understand, “That is the lesson the Camino holds for me. No need to hurry.”

I would like to add here that for me personally the hiking sticks that Ken Harrison gave me are the single most appreciated item on this trip, and have prevented many a near miss sipping…

I walk up behind 29 yr old beautiful Islamic Mariam, and we begin to talk as she holds a gate open for me. She left her boyfriend in Hamburg and her job of 6 years because she, “felt the Camino calling”. At the Catholic Church in Hamburg she received her pilgrims passport and a blessing from the priest. “It was very very nice, he gave me many angels”. She said she cried all the way through her first two days of walking because it was so hard, and she felt so alone. “I have always felt a connection with God. I don’t know how to explain, but I know he is with me.” Then she met Buher from Denmark, and he walked awhile with her until her tears were finished.

We met Buher, one of the many angels on The Way. He is a 50 yr old Danish father of three who just finished a Masters degree in philosophy. He is the one who came over to the young German man in the bunk next to me just before lights out at the hostel in Deba and said in beautiful English,”Just in case I don’t see you again, I want to thank you for our conversation, and tell you it was a pleasure meeting you.”

There are a bunch of different Caminos, and people walk at different paces, so you bond with some people, but you don’t always know who you will see again. A young guy named Boris who started in Nantes, France a month ago showed up late at our Albergue last night. He had walked 37 kilometers. (We were spent after 27). For breakfast he ate a big long baguette and a cup of instant coffee with milk, while I had a banana and sunflower seeds and a whole pot of tea. He offered me bread, I offered him seeds, and we both declined.

It’s kind of like being on a boat trip. A bigger, more spread out boat than I have ever been on, but still there is this feeling that despite coming from all corners of the world and speaking all different tongues, we are together; sharing this extended time without luxuries,or our families, or media, just being out in nature one foot in front of the other on a 1,200 year old path of spirit. We don’t see anybody most of the day, but we all get hungry, we all get rained on, we all hear the birds in the forest, the roosters in the yards,and  the bells; we all contemplate the outsides and insides of ancient churches and monasteries, we all see the pine and eucalyptus forests, the hilly countryside where every home has a small orchard, vineyard and vegetable garden, we all encounter the sheep,goats,horses,cats,dogs,cows, donkeys, mallards on the rivers, blooming fruit trees,quince,forsythia,primroses,and old stone barns; we all look for the yellow arrows that point out our way on walls, trees and fence posts; and we all get really really tired.

“Legs hurt” was all I could get out of two chuckling guys from Austria last night, slurping up Basque meatballs. They waved me off saying they didn’t speak English, but “legs hurt” pretty much sums it up for all of us. That and, “Could please you pop my blister?” It’s easy to see who is suffering from blisters on both feet. Instead of limping, they have that wet diaper, “waddle walk”..One morning I woke up to see the woman in the bunk across from me examining the bottoms of her feet with her headlamp in the pre dawn light. I drifted back to sleep and when I opened my eyes again she was rubbing them with cream. Indeed most of us have never been so aware of our feet.

Bill and I had a choice tonight of the last two bunks in this crowded hostel for 17 euros each including breakfast,(which means bread and jam) or a hotel room,6 blocks away,for 40 euros for the two of us. We chose the hostel. For one thing it was raining and we didn’t want to walk another step, but mostly the camaraderie of the hostels is part of this boat trip. We like connecting with others, and I especially like having access to a well supplied kitchen. It’s funny, you pay more for the privacy of a hotel room but you can’t fix yourself tea in the morning, or do as I did this evening; steam up some broccoli or hard boil some eggs for the trail. I find it touching how respectful people are in the crammed bunk rooms, tip toeing and whispering; and how well everybody cleans up after themselves in the bathrooms and kitchens.The last hostel we were in was only 5 euros. It was  the second floor of a cool old stone train station,but it had no sheets or blankets, no heat, no towels and no kitchen; yet it was just fine for one night. We are all so bone tired we sleep soundly,and we all get up and go by 8.

We have left the coast and are walking in the mountains. This region is called “Basque Country” a country within two countries. Spanish and French are the second languages for these proud people with ancient heritage. Their symbol has four sides, representing earth,air, fire  and water. We see it proudly painted on walls and wagons.

Eating out gets better and better as we learn what is offered. Omelettes stuffed with spinach and mushrooms sold in slices like pizza and amazingly not over cooked eggs; soups which are never called soups but called a plate of lentils or garbanzos, cooked till very soft and spiced with chorizo or smoked beef. The “mixed salads” are huge plates with at least 8 ingredients, and delicious  local olive oil.

Traveling with Bill has been an unexpected treat. For one thing he has Camino experience, but he also has lots of knowledge about European history and the church. Also he gave me his spare earplugs and toothpaste.

He will be walking all the way to the end, 6 weeks after I leave. As an Evergreen professor he has 25 students, all experiencing the Camino independently.  Every evening they are all supposed to mark their location with a dot on a blog map..

Warm blessings to each and every one of you, wherever you place your dot on the map tonight!

Love,Liza

We met Dieter, a pilgrim from Austria today. We have seen him walking and pulling his pack in a two-wheeled cart harnessed to his waste. Today we passed him and he passed us as we both struggled,  in our own ways, up one of the steep, mucky-yucky, slippery,  rocky woodland paths. We had a hard time, but Dieter, you can imagine, was really sweating and panting at points as he dragged his cart through the mess. We finally found a place we could talk–a place we were both very tired at the same time. Turns out he is pulling his cart because he broke his back in four places and had to lie in a hospital bed for a year. We asked his motivation for walking the Camino.  He said, “When I was in that bed I prayed that I would be able to walk the Camino.” And there he was, walking. When we reached the top of the rise, he asked if he could interview us. He said he was making a short movie for all the people in the hospital who had taken care of him. Last we saw him, he was boarding a bus for Bilbao “because,” he said pointing to his  contour map, “I can’t make it over that mountain there.

“Buen Caminos” all around.

No, this is not a new map you have to post on. It’s an invitation to tell others good dishes you have invented for yourself and others on the Way. Here are two things we have enjoyed out of Liza’s recipe book.

1. Red pepper boats. In the markets there are these huge (7″ high, 3″ diameter, 1/3 kilo) sweet, burnt red peppers. Cut into slices. Fill a slice with Jamon-wrapped stick of cheese. We’ve often used the Basque sheep cheese idiazabal. You don’t have to use jamon. You don’t have to use anything.  Just eat the peppers.

2. Broccoli bits. Get one of the nice heads of broccoli in the market. Steam it to desired tenderness. Cut into bite-or-bigger chunks. Put them into a bag when cool; add olive oil, salt and pepper. Shake the bag. Eat all the next day.

Bill