We Find A Theme Song

In the last few weeks or so this particular song has come on the radio a handful of times.  Mind you, I listen to a 80s/90s music station, so it makes sense for this 1988 one-hit wonder to be in heavy rotation.  Finally, as I was shower singing to it for the umpteenth time, I thought, 'Okay, I get it.  I'll take the hint.  Yes, you can be our Camino theme song.'  And the song is...

"I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by The Proclaimers, a Scottish band made up of twin brothers.  That oddity alone makes it rather fitting for the bizarre journey we're about to embark upon.  The chorus lyrics are the most pertinent:

"But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be that man who walked a 1000 miles to fall down at your door."

The best part of this particular song is that the man is using this '1000 miles promise' as an exaggerated declaration of his love.  It's the grandest expression of his fervent desire that he could think of.  1000 miles!  Wow, he must really really love her!  And here we are, mom and I actually walking 500 miles and 500 more, and most likely, falling down at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela's door.  We are literally fulfilling one man's idea of the craziest thing he could do for love.  I'm not sure how it all ties in, but for some reason, I like the sound of that.

Now for a special treat, the music video of our Camino Theme Song...


The Proclaimers - I Would Walk 500 Miles by nex3uk

Let The Transatlantic Stalking Begin

Some of you Camino readers have mentioned that you'd like to know the various cities we'll be wandering through.  Mainly, I'm sure, so you can say, "Hey, I've been there!", which is one of my own favorite pompous pastimes.  "Oh look, Rick Steves is in Cinque Terre...  I've been there!"  "You've traveled to Alaska?  You don't say.  Well, I've been there.  And we went by car over 5,000 miles.  Did you say you flew?"  "Paris is lovely, I agree.  I've been there... twice.  On Bastille Day.  Which happens to be my birthday."  Yes, when it comes to travel bragging, I can be a very ugly person.

The other reason to share the itinerary is a selfish one.  In case we for some reason get pilgrim-napped or find ourselves in a sticky "127 Hours" type situation, it would be great for all of you to know where to retrieve us and our insanely toned bodies.  The authorities will surely find an itinerary a useful tool.  I'm just including the names and mileage instead of the dates because if you've ever seen an episode of "Law & Order" or "Criminal Minds" you know that it will make it that much more exciting and tension-filled for law enforcement to have to put together the clues and connect the dots themselves.  Can't make it that easy for them!  So here goes (and if you'd rather be surprised day-by-day on the blog, SPOILER ALERT, read no further):

From Barcelona we take the train to Arles, France (favorite stomping ground of van Gough, and, yes, I've been there) and the harebrained adventure begins.

FRANCE LEG
Arles to St. Gilles, 12mi
To Aigues Vives, 17.4
To Montpellier, 18
To Aniane, 17
To St. Jean de-la-Blaquiere, 14
To Lodeve, 9
Rest Day (Thank goodness because I'm already exhausted.)
To Le Bousquet d'Orb, 17.3
To St. Gervais sur Mare, 13.2
To Murat sur Vebre, 13
To La Salvetat sur Agout, 11
To Angles, 11
To Boissezon, 11
To Castres, 9
Rest Day (Hitting my head against a wall as I write this.)
To Dourgne, 12.6
To St. Felix Lauragais, 19.2
To Avignonet-Lauragais, 13.8
To Baziege, 18.6 (The beginning of our walk along the canal.)
To Toulouse, 19
Rest Day
To L'Isle Jourdain, 17.5
To Aubiet, 18.8
To Auch, 12.6
To Montesquiou, 19.2
To Marciac, 13.8
To Maubourguet, 11
To Anoye, 13
To Morlaas, 11.4
Rest Day
To Lescar, 11.7
To Oloron Sainte-Marie, 17.3
To Bedous, 15.5
To Col de Somport/Candanchu, Spain (Hallelujah!)

SPAIN LEG
To Jaca, 18
To Puenta La Reina de Jaca , 17.7
To Artieda, 14
Ruesta to Sanguesa, 17.5
To Monreal, 16
To Puenta La Reina, 19 (Liz and Em meet us at long last.)
Rest Day
To Estella, 13.2
To Los Arcos, 12.6
To Lograno, 16
To Najera, 15.6
Rest Day
To Santa Domingo de la Calzada, 12.6
To Belorado, 13.2
To San Juan de Ortega, 14.4
To Burgos, 13.
Rest Day
To Hornillos del Camino, 12
To Castrojeriz, 12.6
To Fromista, 15
To Carrion de los Cueza, 9.6
To Sahagun, 13.2
To El Burgo Ranero, 10.8
To Reliegos, 18
To Leon, 13.8
Rest Day
To Villadegos, 13.2
To Astorga, 15.6
To Rabanal del Camino, 12.6
To El Acebo, 10.2
To Ponferrada, 9.6
To Villafranca del Bierzo, 14.1
To LaFaba, 13.8
To Triacastela, 15
Rest Day
To Sarria, 10.5
To Portomarin, 12.9
To Palas del Rei, 14.4
To Rabaniso, 15
To Arca de Pino, 13.2

Then drum roll, please...

TO SANTIAGO, 11.4
Rest Day/Week/Month/Year/Life

I have to admit that in writing this all out, waves of nausea and anxiety are washing over me, so if you don't mind, I'd like to excuse myself to go curl up in the fetal position and cry.

Desperate Measures

Blackheart:

In honor of the wet weather we've been experiencing of late and the new rain jacket I just bought myself for the trip (goodbye 15-year-old boxy jacket with too-short arms and hood not big enough to fit my melon-sized head!), I thought I would post this entry from my personal blog, The Blackheart Chronicles, about a little something my mother and I dabbled in once upon a rainy day...

--------------------------------

Sigh...

Although I'm a mere 29-years-old, yesterday I joined the ranks of senior citizens everywhere by undertaking my first Mall Walking session.  That's right.  Mall Walking - a physical activity where people stroll back and forth through the long corridors of shopping malls for exercise.  Malls actually open earlier than the stores within them simply to welcome mall walkers into their confines.  "Come in from the cold and rain, my friends.  Your feet are welcome here.  Leave your umbrellas and galoshes behind you.  And bring a few dollars for Hot Dog On A Stick..."

I honestly always thought mall walking was some kind of a joke.  Is it possible people really do that?  And who in the world are these people?  Well, apparently, I'm one of 'these people', if one mall walk does a mall walker make.

To properly train for our Camino trek, Mom and I have been adding long walks into our workout repertoire for quite some time now.  Months and months of walking without any discernible purpose other than... to walk.  These practice ambles range from about 10 to 13 miles a piece and take us to the far corners of Sacramento - along railroad tracks, past urban murals, down alleys, over levees, across bridges, through parks, down the cobblestone streets of Old Sac and past endless streets of houses, from cozy craftsman cottages to artsy Midtown lofts to regal Victorians.  However, now that the rains have come, our schedule has been a bit thrown off.

Now before you judge (you didn't think I could hear you mumbling "pansy" under your breath?), it's not that mom and I haven't walked in the rain before.  We spent a great deal of the Coast-to-Coast hike across England eating rain-soaked sandwiches in the moors with muddy gators strapped around our ankles.  I know rain.  We have met.  Yet, that doesn't mean I would volunteer to walk through it if I didn't have to.  You wouldn't tease a rattle snake just because one day you might accidentally stumble upon one and need to know the proper way to suck out the venom, now would you?  Which is why yesterday, when mom suggested we try mall walking for the first time, I thought, 'To heck with the rain.  Count me in.'  

When we arrived at Arden Fair at 7am, the mall had already been open to mall walkers for an hour.  Since 6am, people!  Guess those must be the Extreme Walkers (i.e. little old ladies powered up on Folgers Coffee laced with 5-Hour Energy shots.)  Just opening the doors to the mall when all the stores, themselves, were closed sent a thrill of excitement through me, like the time a group of friends and I spent the night in the Psychology Building of Sac State after brea-- ahem, taking a dip in the swimming pool. 

When we got inside, I expected to see a flurry of canes and metal walkers with halved tennis balls on the bottom of the legs, but actually, these blue hairs are pretty sprightly and swift.  And a good portion of them are younger than you'd imagine.  One woman I was keenly fascinated with had this whole zigzag technique, weaving in and out of the kiosks that dot the aisles of the mall.  She looked like a human pin ball, only one wearing an extremely... let's call it "bright", Christmas sweater.  I will say, however, that mom and I were definitely walking the fastest.  If the other walkers were vehicles on a highway, we were race cars at the Indy 500. 

The best part of the whole deal is the window shopping.  Once the stores actually opened, we couldn't help but pop inside to check out Christmas sales.  There's nothing like shopping when the clothes are still organized and folded, the employees are still cheerful and there's no one else around to grab the last pair of pants in your size.  A mercantile dreamland.  Of course, my experience at the same mall only days ago as I struggled for half an hour to get out of a parking lot filled with crazed holiday shoppers is the complete flip side of the coin, and an experience not even the most crisply folded pile of Gap sweaters can mend.  

The only downfall to mall walking is the dreaded Food Court.  Cinnabon and its cinnamon & sugar siren call nearly undid my entire 5-mile walk.  I resisted, fortunately.  Mom, herself, almost got sucked into the Pretzel Shop until we saw the employee sneeze, covering her mouth but not her nose, while hovering over a vat of bubbling butter.  Starbucks did manage to get us in the end, however.  But when you're mall walking like a bat out of hell, you need some fuel.

All-in-all, I'd say mall walking was a good rain-free time, and not quite what I expected.  Sure, some stereotypes remain true, but wherever you might find yourself walking - in a mall, along the beach, through the woods, down the streets of Sacramento or on the Camino de Santiago - at least you're walking.

I'll leave you with my favorite quotes from Wikipedia's 'Mall Walking' entry...

1. "Mall walking in the United States is especially popular amongst senior citizens."
2. "Mall walkers tend to be a crowd requiring little supervision."
3. "After walking, mall walkers may well stay on and shop the stores or patronize the mall's food court."

The Way of St. James

The symbol of the Way of St. James

At the heart of the Camino de Santiago or Way of St. James lies a 1,000-year-old Christian pilgrimage.  The legend that has for all this time sparked spiritual gypsies to strap on their hiking boots (or papyrus sandals?) is that the remains of St. James' were taken by boat from Jerusalem to the city of Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain where he was laid to rest.  At the church in this town where his remains are said to be buried my mom and I will lay our hiking poles down.

Now, I have to admit I'm more like a college freshman when it comes to religion - still unsure of which major to claim and a bit inclined to dropout altogether and backpack around South America for a year.  If anything, I would label myself a Naturist.  Wait.  According to Wikipedia a Naturist is someone who advocates nudity in private and public sectors.  Okay, not a Naturist.  Definitely not a Naturist.  A Pantheist, maybe.  Yes, that feels about right.  Nature is where I find myself most connected to something more magnificent than daily life, filling me with an equal measure of awe and fear.  So for me, the Camino is not about making a religious quest.  It's about adventure, meeting people, challenging myself, soaking in culture, spending time with my mom and embarking on a life changing adventure (not to mention gathering invaluable fodder for my writing.)

My mother, however, is Catholic.  The spiritual meaning of this journey is great for her, and I respect and admire her beliefs, as I do any of the myriad of reasons people have for stepping onto the Camino.  She also has a big brain and a huge heart, so I imagine any prayer she offers up must have some real projection power up to the big kahuna.  That is why when she sent an email to friends offering to say prayers for them during her walk, I thought it might be nice to extend that same offer to the other readers of this blog.  I, myself, in my own meager way have offered to dedicate each day to a follower of the blog, using that person as inspiration to keep trucking, while sending positive vibes their way from overseas.  So, if you have a special prayer you'd like my mom to meditate on or would like me to dedicate a day in your name as we walk the same steps of millions of pilgrims before us, please let us know.  I realize this is a private matter, so if you don't want to comment here on this blog please feel free to email me at tesssebast@gmail.com or hit me up on Facebook.

The Baby With The Bathwater

Blackheart:

A group of ravenous ducks fighting over breadcrumbs.  Summertime at Disneyland.  A Cancun wet t-shirt contest.  A Justin Bieber sighting.  A World Cup match.  The dinner table of a family of ten kids.  What do these things have in common?  CHAOS.  Now take the images of those events and apply them to the 24 hours leading up to our 2-day, overnight trial hike... 

It's not as if mom and I were unprepared.  We've been packing for months on end, fine-tuning every last piece of gear.  However, as we began to fill up our Camel Pack 'bladders' (that is indeed the official word for them), started adding snacks and putting in last minute things, the weight became very very real.  So real I could taste the shoulder and hip pain to come.  Especially considering my cousin had gotten her pack down to 10 pounds pre-water and food.  Now that's a feat to which she deserves a gold medal. 

So like prizefighters before a big match, Saturday evening began our rush to get the weight down.  The two day trip included a 12-mile hike around Lake Natoma Sunday, followed by an evening at Lake Natoma Inn and another hike around Natoma the following day.  About 25 miles all together and a lot of stops at Karen's Bakery Cafe.  Yet, before we embarked, hard choices had to be made.  Important items to my sanity had to be left by the wayside.  The baby and the bathwater had to go.

I started with make-up.  Goodbye blush!  Goodbye one measly color of eye-shadow!  I tested the old 'pinch your cheeks to make them rosy' trick, and unbelievably it worked!  So, fellow pilgrims, if you see me pinching my cheeks in front of the mirror in the uni-sex bathrooms it's because one of you is attractive enough to warrant a rosy glow.  I couldn't, however, part with my powder and concealer.  I'm sorry, it's not in me.  If I have to look at my shiny face for three months I might literally go blind.  Not worth it.  I'm still considering the mascara though...  Do I really need it?  Will anyone on the trail other than myself be impressed by how thick my lashes are... or even notice the difference?  The thing with mascara, it's one more step at night to take it off.  And who needs one more step in the bathroom when your legs are about to collapse beneath you?

Next, the underwear went from 4 to 3.  Then - and this really hurt - I got rid of my second 'going out' dress and 'going out' lightweight jacket.  I will have to survive on one non-hiking apparel.  If any of you have seen my closet, you will know how hard this will be for me.  One single Patagonia black dress.  And I'll have to use my hiking jacket for night as well, sweaty or not.  Yes, folks, the stinkiness factor just rose up a notch!  Sorry 'bout it.  Took out my pj bottoms, as well.  The top is long enough, and if my butt cheeks make an appearance in the crowded refugios, then at least they'll be toned from all the walking.  I topped things off by then replacing my larger toiletries bag with a smaller one, as even the fabric needed to create the larger size adds unwanted weight.

So this was all the night before.  But it didn't end there.  That night I stayed up late looking over other people's online Camino packing lists where everyone warned to GET RID OF MORE.  I tossed and turned into the wee hours thinking of what else I could discard.  Would I wind up hiking in a sports bra and underwear, sucking in my stomach every time I chanced upon a fellow pilgrim?  So the next morning I made the biggest decision of them all - to not bring my iPod.  The iPod alone isn't terribly heavy, but the charger is a bit of a beast.  That means no music on the trail.  No audio books that my friend so lovingly sent me.  I would listen to the sweet sounds of nature and my own panting.  It was only until the second day of our overnight hike, when mom and I had run out of verbal games to play and the fairy tale we were conceiving of 'an elfin bunny who knew the secret to why the townspeople were getting sick' went cold did I realize that the sounds of nature and our banter simply weren't going to cut it every day for 85 days.  I was going mad on day 2!  However, miraculously, last night I realized I can plug my earphones into my iPad even as it's snuggled within my backpack and rock out on the trail.  Genius!

Then there was the car ride to the Inn and trail head where I took out my body lotion and body wash.  Lotion is a luxury.  I will have to make do with sunscreen by day and the occasional hotel room that provides lotion at night.  Most places we'll stay have soap/body wash, and for the refugios, I'll have to steal the hotel soap from the night before.  One guy online even used laundry soap for laundry, body wash, shave gel, shampoo and conditioner, but that just seems a bit extreme.  Can you say 'Dermatistis and limp hair'?  Though we'll see how I feel after a month... 

So off we went, making great time both days, although I have to say my legs were barking during the last 4 miles the second day.  The night at the Natoma Inn, of course, led to even more tossing out of stuff.  Bye-bye Vaseline!  Goodbye pocket-sized moleskin notebook!  Farewell Airborne!  Adieu multi-vitamins - good old-fashioned food will simply have to cut it for nourishment.  I even took out most of my ibuprofens because I read a blog that said pharmacies were everywhere and to only bring 10 pain killers at a time.  Plus, isn't booze a natural pain killer anyway?  Couldn't a nightly glass of vino take care of things quite pleasantly and without the excess weight (other than to your gut)? 

So now I've coined a term.  I call this entire process 'pilgrimizing', as you let go of things you thought you needed to embrace a life stripped down and much, much less sanitary.  I haven't even stepped one foot on the Camino yet, and already I'm pilgrimizing like there's no tomorrow.

And if you think all this agonizing is for naught, picture this:  A 10lb dumbbell.  A gold brick.  A cement steeping stone.  A Smart Car.  A lead pipe.  What do these have in common?  They're what a Qtip feels on your muscles when in your backpack.

And please feel free to weigh in on the mascara debate...

"A Walk In The Woods"

Blackheart:

As we prepare for this arduous 1000 mile adventure, mom and I have been reading books, not only on the Camino, itself, but also on walking and hiking long distance.  I first began reading Shirley Maclaine's "The Camino: A Journey of The Spirit" but soon realized when she begun to discuss past life visions on the trail, that perhaps it was going into places I wasn't ready for.  I mean, I have enough problems figuring out my own life, let alone the lives I've suffered through in the past (although I'm pretty sure I was once a Baptist choir singer and, perhaps, also a soda shop owner... but that's a story for another time).

I had better luck with the next book: "Walking In A Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons From The Camino" by Joyce Rupp.  Still a spiritual leaning, but fantastic (if not frightening) advice.  My mom has read about a bizillion other books on the subject, of which I'm sure she can share on this blog.  Including, in fact, one written entirely in French, "Miam Miam Dodo," which she translated beginning to end.  Yes, she's that kind of person, and thank goodness, because the French know how to find you warm beds and great food.

Yet, beyond Camino paraphernalia, the book I've found the most inspiring, if not for its advice but for its stellar sense of humor, is Bill Bryson's hilarious account of his attempts to hike the Appalachian Trail.  This book taught me two very important principles: 1.) I never want to hike the AT... EVER... and 2.) When setting out on an audacious and physically demanding journey, never take yourself too seriously.  So we get blisters or a cold and have to take transit for a day... so what?  So we run into shady characters with no regard for fellow hikers... nothing to get worked up about.  So we fall in a pond and soak our hiking books and look like fools in front of more stealthy, skilled pilgrims... who the heck cares?  At the risk of sounding trite, long hikes are just like life - the more you laugh at the challenges and perils and misadventures, the more fun and enjoyable it all becomes.  Thanks, Bill, for putting things in perspective.

And if you haven't read his book, I highly advise you do.  It's an eye-opener, not only on the human spirit's ability to endure and push beyond limits, but also on our profound connection with nature in all its prickly, sharped-toothed, hairy, creepy-crawly, majestic, wet, rocky, stinky, awe-inspiring glory.

Walk to Winters

Winters welcomes the spring.

Blackheart:

Kay, Liz, Red and I woke up early Sunday morning to make a 12 mile walk to the quaint and charming town of Winters to meet with a man who has the inside scoop on the Camino.  I'm afraid it's my fault we woke up so early, as I had to be back in time to watch the Oscars - a tradition that spans back to a five-year-old Blackheart practicing her acceptance speech for best actress/director/screenwriter to an applauding grandmother cradling a bowl of microwave popcorn.

So off we went at 7am, leaving one car in Winters and the other at the start of the walk somewhere near Davis.  Perfect day.  Perfect weather - cool but sunny.  No rain.  No blisters.  Light traffic for the most part.  No men whistling at us from rusting pick-up trucks.  Just blossoming trees, green grass, blue skies, walnut shells underfoot, enough birds to scare Hitchcock (including a Great Blue Heron and hoot owl!) and lots of tight-bodied road bikers saying 'hello' instead of the normally heard expression: "You're on the wrong side of the trail, walkers!  Move the hell over!!!!"

Didn't bring my pack this time, but Red tried out her insanely lightweight Gossamer Gear backpack, which judging by her need for a shoulder massage during the Oscars, may not cut the mustard in terms of comfort, but will certainly take some pressure off the old pups.

Once we arrived in Winters (a town I would describe as "cute as a bug", although I hate bugs so maybe a bad simile), we grabbed our Camino insider from his office (filled with watercolor paintings he had made along the Camino) and ate lunch, while listening to his bevvy of helpful advice.  Mainly I took away the following insights:

1. Take everything out of your pack.  Look at it.  Then take away half and never look back.  
2. Underwear can be used instead of a bathing suit.  Again, every ounce counts.  So goodbye bikini!
3. Theft is not a problem amongst pilgrims, which means my uber expensive Moving Comfort sports bras will be safe.  Phew!
4. The main problem with refugios (where pilgrims sleep communally) are the snorers.  Ear plugs, check.
5. My mom will be okay wearing a nightgown in the refugios, as it seems anything goes.  Hell, most of the bathrooms are co-ed - a fact that made my aunt particularly nervous.  I, personally, had the benefit of co-ed bathrooms and showers in the dorms at UCSC.  And what a lovely experience that was.  I can still hear the sweet and serene sound of men hawking loogies and farting in the showers next to me.  Ah, memories...
6. Enjoy the small things along the way, as the final destination of Santiago is anti-climatic at best.  This is a walkers motto I learned hiking across England when a scone and clotted cream looked as breathtaking as a da Vinci.  When crossing a stile was as exciting as a roller coaster ride.  When a red phone booth in the middle of nowhere after getting lost in the mountains and hiking 22 miles was as miraculous as a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
7. Find something creative to do at the end of each day.  Painting.  Photography.  Writing.  As you'll be too tired to do anything that requires your lower extremities to move.



Pedestrian RR bridge to Winters.

8. Do not eat at the corner cafe in Winters during the Sunday brunch rush.  45 minutes is a long time to wait for a salad and can possibly make you late to watch the Oscars red carpet on E.  

This is all I remember for now, as I've just returned from a day of snowshoeing in the hot sun in Santa Fe, and my brain is a bit fried.  But perhaps mom will have more to add in her next blog entry.   Overall, however, great advice.  Great talk.  Great salad (jicama, yea!).  Great day of walking. 

Oh, and if anyone has advice on things that can do double-duty on the trail, let me know.  So far, as I mentioned before, underwear = swimwear.  Also, body wash = shaving gel.  Fleece Gator = ear warmer & neck warmer (so no need for scarf or knit hat.)  Ipad = computer & reader (so no books to haul around).  And Moving Comfort sports thong = sling shot in case attacked by gypsies/bears/fellow pilgrims gone mad from lack of sleep due to loud snorers in the refugios.