"Love In The Mud" Part 4 - A Camino Love Story

From Fromista I would like to skip ahead (in my dirty hiking boots) just a few kilometers to Carrion de los Condes.  Hannes and I didn't cross paths that day on the road, and the end result should have been a warning that walking with him really did bring good luck.  The Cali gang and I chose the shorter path along the freeway, as many did, and wound up with mouths full of gnats (oh, the gnats!) and screaming feet from walking at break neck speeds to get away from the winged plague.  I looked like a mad woman on the trail, swinging my poles wildly in a helpless attempt to ward them off.  Luckily, everyone was doing this crazy dance - an endless line of jerking, swatting and twitching hikers, which gave new meaning to the song "I Wave My Hair Back and Forth."  Hannes and Juliano had chosen wisely, walking leisurely and without bouts of epilepsy along the canal.

The sunny square in Carrion.

As I went through my usual routine in the hostel in Carrion, washing my gnat encrusted clothes in the sink (they had drowned in my sweat apparently) and massaging cream into my aching pups, I realized I actually missed Hannes that day.  His good humor.  His smile.  His chatter.  Our thinly veiled flirtations.  His accent (oh, the accent!)  Even Juliano's lessens to him on how to be a proper gentleman... All of it.  Just as I was wondering whether or not to text him, my beautiful new iPhone sang the loveliest tune.  He had texted me that he was in the square, which just so happened to be below our window.  I texted him to "look up," waving to him and his friends laying out in the afternoon sun, drinking beers and picking at a roasted chicken like the ravenous pilgrim animals we'd become.  He waved back, smiling and gesturing me to come down and join them.  Looking at him in his sleeveless t-shirt (if you need help picturing this, he's a lifeguard), I decided applying tea tree oil to my toe nails could wait...

The boys at the butcher.

A few minutes later I was sitting on the bench writing postcards to my girlfriends with lines like, "I am currently sitting across from a hot Belgian drinking San Miguel... jealous?"  Hannes made us all a grand pasta dinner that night (jealous?); about ten of us searching through the streets trying to find the right ingredients.  I looked at him across the table as we ate, and there was something in his eyes, a tiny gleam that told me he had been thinking of me that day, too. 

After dinner, Red talked everyone into ditching Hannes and I as we all strolled through town.  We looked behind us, and suddenly the crew had vanished like Spaniards during siesta.  I felt like a nervous high schooler - her friends trying to hook her up with the cute football player.  Only my football player was wearing a Quick Dry shirt and fanny pack, and this cheerleader was in a dress that she had now worn four consecutive nights with Euros tucked into her bra.  We kept walking despite their prank and sat on stone benches down by the river.  I got the sense mosquitoes were biting the hell out of me, but I didn't care.  Later, Red and I dropped the boys off at their convent dormitory, as the nuns had a strict pilgrim curfew of 10pm.  As I said goodbye to him through the gate, I couldn't help but think, "lucky nuns"... Definitely not a phrase that gets thrown around a lot.

We had decided that night that even though the boys were walking further than us the next day, we would meet in the morning for coffee and then walk together until our final farewell in some hellishly tiny village whose name I have purposely forgotten out of sheer post traumatic stress.  (Yes, I'm referring to the place where the urinals sat next to the sink - me brushing my teeth as a man peed beside me.)  It was a bitter sweet walk.  'So this is it...', I thought.  'The end.  Some good Facebook friends who you chat with time to time and that's it.' 

Once at the village, we cracked open a bottle of cheap wine and toasted to our time together over a picnic lunch.  (The infamous incident when Juliano, looking over at Red covered in and surrounded by crumbs with a huge hungry grin on her face, made the astute observation, "You eat like baby.")  In between bites of stale bread and olives, just when I had prepared myself to say 'so long' and suck it up, Hannes turned to me and said with those damn puppy dog eyes of his, "I'm so happy to have met you."  Like the chocolate bar I'd been carrying around in my backpack, I melted.  Because when he said it, you knew he meant it.  My cousin was so moved she even let out an "Ahhh," as if we were in the studio audience at a live "Full House" taping.  I smiled, made some awkward reply and realized that not seeing him again wasn't an option. 

The 'Adios' picture. Left to right: Juliano, Blackheart, Red, Hannes

We took pictures together, mumbled 'Buen Camino' and gave each other what Hannes said were not goodbyes but "see you later" hugs.  I hoped his words held truth.  Red and I watched the boys walk away down the road, their backpacks bumping along as their poles ticked away into the dusty earth and waved to them for what seemed like twenty minutes, like grandparents watching you pull away in the car.  I had no idea how we'd see each other again, but for now, texting would have to do.  "Did you get a text from your Camino boyfriend?" Red asked me with a sneaky smile later that evening over glasses of Four Roses bourbon.  I had.  About 10 of them since we parted ways.  I took it as a good sign of things to come.  Our conversations hadn't ended on the trail, after all.  They'd only just begun.

But no moment together on the Camino up to that point could have prepared Hannes and I for what happened days later in the city where my belief in magic was resurrected.  The city of the Hostel Pauper and Parador Princess.  The city of our first kiss.  My favorite city in Spain.  The city where we fell in love.  Leon...

To be continued...

Video - "Tenerife Pilot Whales"

A little video from my Camino love of our pilot whale watching experience in Tenerife (Canary Islands, Spain). About twenty whales surrounded our boat to say 'Hola'. My favorite moments, which aren't captured here, were when we glimpsed just their giant round heads poking out of the water like a bobbing for apples bucket.

Note: If you like reggae, turn it up.

Love in the Time of Cooties

Last Sunday I began to throw my life away.  Figuratively and literally.  Down an apartment trash shoot (and into a recycle bin, so don't call the green police) I dumped the contents of nearly my entire worldly existence - books, shoes, files, frames, letters from past loves, DVDs, paper towel rolls (hey, they cost money too), discolored photographs, yoga mat, even a toaster.  Luckily, Monday afternoon an entire new sparkling life came my way.  Not up a trash shoot but via Video Skype.  But more on that to come...  First, the deluge.

When I found out my apartment had a case of the bed bugs (let the screaming, itching and gagging begin), I went out of my freakin' mind.  Mainly because the final confirmation came only a handful of days before I left for Belgium.  I remember calling Hannes about 6am in the morning crying and insisting that if he didn't want me to come to visit I would understand.  I was the California plague, and I wasn't going to spread it abroad!  Thankfully he was in his right mind, unlike my panicking, sniffling, loathing self, and brushed the notion aside.  I was, however, going to buy all new luggage and have every stitch of clothing dry cleaned.  I wouldn't wish these devilish creatures on even my worst enemy, let alone my true love.

The worst part of this atrocity is that these creatures like to hide.  Even if you catch them early, as I did, you can never be sure one might be hitchhiking in your bedside alarm clock.  So as I pack up to move to San Francisco on the 1st, everything that can't be cooked in the newly purchased Cootie Cooker (not the copyrighted name), washed or dry cleaned must be tossed down the shoot or hauled away, including every last piece of furniture.  And let's face it, a cooker that takes nearly two hours per load means most stuff you say 'to hell with' and toss away.  I mean, what do you really need to get by?  If the Camino taught me anything (of which it actually taught quite a lot), it was that all you need can fit into a single stained and stinky backpack.

I won't lie, though; it's hard.  Saying goodbye to the old life in such a permanent way takes some guts.  When mom and I did the initial purging before I left for Belgium, we both - now keep in mind we were very unstable emotionally at this point as things were fresh - broke down in tears when we realized Bunny, whom I've had since I was five, had to be incinerated.  Bunny, you should know, is part of the family.  Twice my stepmother has made outfits for him when I was well into my 20s.  He even spent some time without me in Molokai enjoying the ocean view when dad asked for him to be shipped to his Hawaiian house to hang out.  I realize I'm making myself and my family sound crazy, but there you have it.  The end result is that mom and I couldn't bear the thought and tossed the rabbit (this is a stuffed animal I'm talking about, not a 25-year-old graying rabbit) into the hot wash with the rest of the danger zone clothing items and crossed our fingers he'd make it out alive.  My stepmom plans to make him a new outfit to cover the bald spots.

Yet, at the same time, getting rid of these things was freeing.  Every time I threw something away, I thought of Hannes leaving behind so much of his stuff to come to California to be with me.  If he could do it, so could I.  Sure we may end up with zero furniture and limited kitchen supplies (I asked him to spare his juicer), but slowly a new Ikea adorned life would eventually take shape.

Perhaps it was my acceptance (no matter how begrudging) of losing my old life that allowed the new one to knock on my virtual Skype door.  On Monday in my PJ's and glasses, my Camino love (in his bike jersey) gave a mischievous grin and invited me to a life of adventure, love, gypsy travel and lots of Belgian beer and waffles by becoming his wife.  As a girl who used to claim I would never marry, my exuberant 'Yes!' may come as a surprise.  But if you could have seen inside my heart and head the first time Hannes and I kissed on a bench by the river in Leon, you would know that this 'Yes!' appeared instantaneously and was already waiting there this Monday ready to be freed. 


At risk of sounding wise beyond my years (hehe), the beauty of living is that we are offered opportunities to reinvent ourselves all along the way.  Like the cat, nine lives are truly possible.  Living and embracing them all is simply a matter of being open to change and accepting the dualities of life... In my case, that true love in the form of a magical life-altering proposal, has come in the Time Of Cooties.  It wasn't just material things falling down that shoot, it was the girl who used to be.  The Camino changed me, and although I wish this newest lesson had come via something more mild mannered than bed bugs, like,say, a flood or armed robbery, I am so happy to be starting fresh with the man I met in the Meseta mud.  In the arms of Jay the Hauler went Ms. Gypsy.

Looking forward to meeting Mrs. Gypsy.  She may not have furniture but you can bet Sint Bernardus will be stocked in her fridge.

A Belgian Wedding

True love is busy. Ever since I stepped off the plane in Brussels, Hannes and I have been in a fervor of sightseeing, checking off a long list of must-dos in Belgium and Normandy. Hence, the utter lack of blogging. Rather than try to squeeze in all that's happened and all I've seen into one endless post, let's start at the beginning... the wedding of Hannes' mother Lieve and stepfather Frank.

As I write, Hannes is preparing me a signature Belgian side dish of mashed potatoes and spinach, so I can't take long (love is busy I tell ya!) before we leave for Gent to book his December flight to the US (and drink St. Bernardus and eat luikse waffles on the river.) The day I arrived we drove to the magical setting of the wedding to help set up decorations - a charming cafe/bar with open courtyard and converted barn. I cut tulle like a pro. I suspect, however, that we were more annoying than helpful, as we paused every 10 minutes to kiss like googly-eyed teenagers.

That night we feasted on a dinner of homemade Belgian stooverij at Lieve and Frank's spectacular house with its intoxicating garden dotted with apple trees and kittens chasing each other. We're talking a postcard property. Hannes' brother Brecht and girlfriend, Cynthia, joined in the pre-wedding festivities. We drank Duval by the outdoor fire pit after dinner - me wrapped in two blankets as supreme mosquito protection - and I felt like I belonged. Thanks to their hospitality and kindness, Belgium was quickly becoming a second home.


The following evening we awaited the surprised soon-to-be newlyweds, as they had no idea of the Indian theme of the wedding. Funny side note, EVERYONE was dressed in Indian garb except Hannes and I. Just what the sole American needs... to draw more attention to herself. Did get adorned in a bindi dot, though, which helped shave off a bit of the shame.

The rest of the night was filled with beauty, warmth, cold Duvall, spicy food, dancing, friendly conversation (some of which I actually understood!) and the repeated phrase said with a sly smile, "So you're the Compostela woman...?" News of our Camino Love had traveled fast. I hope these pictures taken on my iPhone and Hannes' Canon do it justice, as it's a night I'll never forget.








The courtyard nuptials.


The Bindi dot assortment.





We take turns passing around the sculpture of their united handprints, giving them our blessings.









Brecht and Cynthia.































The soul mates' first dance.


Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Stekene, Belgium

Off To See The Wizard

Today, as I set my passport on the Delta ticket counter, the attendant (is there an actual title for the people at the counter? Ticket clerk? Check-in person? Airline ID checker? Forgive me, I know not and do not have access to the Internet, as I'm flying somewhere above the great state of Georgia), asked me my final destination. A rather creepy way to put it, "final destination," considering the terrifying horror movie franchise the phrase conjures up, which I believe does include in some sequel a plane death. Moroseness aside, I smiled at her with my best 'I woke up at 3am' smile and answered, "Belgium."

I don't know what's gotten into me (of course I do; it's love!), but lately I can't help but say the next line to everyone I mention my trip to - the lady at the nail shop, the guy at the dry cleaners, the person handing my my Swan roll and seaweed salad to go. - "To see my boyfriend who lives there." It's funny how heavy with pride that line is delivered to friends or complete strangers. As if I'm now in some secret, elite international club of women with foreign boyfriends. If it was a real club our motto would be, "Just go with it,"... Or better yet, "Act now, ask questions later." We of the Foreign Boyfriend club take chances on love. And We charge everything, even that cup of frozen yogurt, on our airline mileage credit card. We also can't shut up about it apparently. Not so secretive after all.

The Bag Checker Attendant Clerk looked at me, her eyes first lighting up and then growing small and wistful, and said, "I wish I had a boyfriend in Belgium." I should have stopped there, but I opened my big braggart mouth once again and told her, thinking I was being amusing, "We met in Spain actually. Quite international." Yes, I used those exact words, which sound like nails on a chalkboard in retrospect but really was just meant as friendly conversation as she made squiggly pink marks on my boarding pass. "Wow," she said. "Even better. How wonderful. Some people are just lucky. That's the sort of thing I dream about."

I could tell at this point that there was a sort of sadness in the air, so I tried my best to cheer her up. "It was something I always dreamed about too. And finally it came true. It's not luck. You just have to keep focusing on what you want, and it will find you." Look, it was 4am. That's the best I could muster at that ungodly hour! Unfortunately, it didn't work. "I don't think it will happen for me. It's been a really bad year." Oh no. Why do I always get myself into deep conversations with strangers? I'm notorious for accidentally drawing out the life stories of helpline service agents - Comcast, AT&T, AAA, SMUD. I kid you not. I suppose some people are just so surprised to find a curious and genuine listener, they simply can't help themselves.

"I've had a terrible few weeks," I admitted to her. "But a whole year. That would be tough. I'm sorry." As I said it I was secretly asking the Camino to help her. If anyone deserved a "How Stella Got Her Groove Back" moment, it was this Delta worker. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be down in the dumps and to be forced to watch happy travelers excited for their adventures or eager to see loved ones rub it in your face day in and day out. "There was a death in the family this week," she said nearly in tears. Okay, now things were feeling a bit surreal. I would have jumped over the baggage scale to hug her, if I didn't think I'd be tasered in the process. All I could offer was my sympathy and a kind word.

Putting my boarding pass in my purse, she held out her hand to stop me. "Wait. Let me see those again." I gave them to her. "Here. I changed them so you don't have to show your passport again at the gate." She smiled. A little favor for someone who listened. I felt honored. As I walked to the security gate I thought to myself just how right she was. No matter how terrible and stressful my last few weeks have been, I am lucky. I have met the man of my dreams. The best friend anyone could possibly want. And here I was boarding a plane to spend two months by his side. Every day with him would be a privilege. And I wouldn't waste one damn second of it dwelling in the bad.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The Sky

"Love In The Mud" Part 3 - His Story

[More from guest writer, Belgian and my Camino Love, Hannes Bral...]


The night in Castrogeriz,we walked the Californian ladies back to Tess’ place after dinner.  I had no clue whatsoever if she liked me or not.  But the first signal I presumed to be one of interest, I can still recall.  As we said goodbye and promised to meet up the next day, I noticed a change in her eyes.  She looked at me and said goodnight in a different way than before.  It was almost as if she wanted to make that moment last a bit longer.  But as cold-hearted as I still was at that time, I did not act on it.  Just said goodnight back, and the moment was gone.

Juliano and I walked back to our albergue, which was a great place.  It had a policy that no pilgrim could get up before 6am!  Which is a huge blessing.  No zipper sounds at 4am, no plastic bags opening and crinkling, no headlights blinding you as you half-open your sleepy eyes and think, 'Omg, yet another day ahead, pilgrim!

The following morning I woke up to Gregorian chants playing in the background.  The hospitalero, dressed in a monk costume, came wandering in the room with a lantern and in a friendly and gentle voice, woke up the entire dorm.  Everyone started laughing and applauding, as it was a very unusual but original way of waking up.  As it turned out, the hospitalero, who was a very kind man, had done the Camino a few times and wanted the pilgrims to feel at ease.

View from the top.

I lost track of time.  Hey, wasn’t I supposed to meet a gorgeous Caligirl that morning?  It was way past 7am already, so Juliano and I were late to meet them.  But I had the firm belief, somehow, that I would catch up as I had done before.  So we started our day of walking in the cold morning air.  That day had something magical about it.  The sky was so beautifully dramatic.  The rising sun had rays of light coming down as if the heavens were opening up (well, at least, that is how my grandma would describe the view, if she saw that sky).  It was breathtaking.

It was also quite a walk up the mountain.  My heart was beating like crazy, and it wasn’t because of Tess (not yet, that is.)  Speaking of Tess... Guess who was looking out over the valley at the top?  That same cute Caligirl with the lovely hat on.  My mood switched from being exhausted from the climb to sheer happiness upon seeing her!  My heart was still racing!  Normally, a heart slows down its rhythm once you take some rest... so how could this be? 

She had taken some strong medicine for her cold that day.  That I remember.  As we walked together again, we talked, shared, laughed, went ahead, stayed behind, waited for Juliano and Red...  But there was one thing striking to me: we could fill up all those moments talking, and I so much enjoyed her presence.  I felt at ease with her, and I was thinking to myself, ‘This Caligirl is kind of special.'  I really hadn’t met a girl like that before!

 
Upon arrival in the town of Fromista, we split up because Juliano and I had another albergue, while the girls were staying with their mothers in a hostal.  Juliano looked at his printed paper of sleeping options and decided on a private albergue.  A big contrast to the day before, actually.  

That night we met up for our second dinner together, and when I saw Tess, my heart felt like it skipped a little beat.  ‘Damn, I’m liking this girl’ I thought to myself...

"Love In The Mud" Part 3 - A Camino Love Story

Posing for a picture before dinner in Castrogeriz.

I went back to our little hotel that night in Castrogeriz, pondering what had transpired at dinner.  Could I actually like this guy after only one day of walking together and a simple French phrase uttered over a menu peregrino (which he kept shaking his head and laughing about, not believing a guide book could have a name as ridiculous as Miam Miam Dodo)?

A quick anecdote about the aforementioned hotel... When my mother asked the proprietor if we could have an extra blanket for the night (being Spring, all furnaces, we quickly realized as we put wool socks on to go to bed our first week of walking, had been temporarily shut down for the season), the man refused, telling her he would bet us 1000 Euros we wouldn't need it.  So as I lay in bed shivering myself to sleep, I couldn't help but look forward to the next day's walk.  We hadn't made solid plans to hike together again, but Hannes and Juliano had mumbled something in between goodnight hugs about trying to meet at 7am in front of Rick's albergue; although our Cali gang were notorious early risers, and the boys weren't so sure they could rise to the occasion.  Oh, and that 1000 Euros the proprietor bet my mom?  The blanket-hoarder never paid up.

As the Cali gang gathered in front of Rick's albergue the next morning, the boys were nowhere to be seen.  Normally, Rick was about 5 to 10 minutes late in joining the rest of us, which would have bought Hannes and Juliano some time to meet up, but low and behold Rick was right smack on time, waiting for us with a smile and a morning song (this one was about trekking poles I think?)  So I shuffled my feet around a bit and slowed my pace to see if perhaps that head of shaggy blond hair would appear from behind a stone corner, but alas, no mud-walker to be seen.  Red and I chatted away on the trail, instead, with me pretending total indifference... 'Oh they'll catch up maybe.  Whatever.  No biggie.  Was nice to meet them.  Great guys.  Yada yada yada blah blah blah.'  Blackheart was in full effect, spinning a web of lies a kilometer long.

Meanwhile, we had a huge mountain to climb, and my sick lungs were screaming in agony.  During one stop to catch my breath, I spied the Belgian/Portuguese duo below, a kilometer or so behind.  Sweat poured down my face in sheets, and I was breathing like a Sumo wrestler after running a 5k.  Oh no, he wasn't going to see me like this!  My treaded feet flew up the mountain, hoping to reach the top in time to put myself back together like a pilgrim Humpty Dumpty.  There I stood at the top (finally!), raising my hands to take a picture of the view below, when in reality I was lifting them up to dry my armpits in the icy morning breeze.  Have I confirmed to you my sex symbol status yet?  The pictures were beautiful though.  The sky over the distant hillside village below was gray except for rays of sunlight spilling over the top like a crown of gold.  Gorgeous.  (Hannes' came out the best, so will try to persuade him to share when he writes his version.)

A well-deserved 'top of the hill' snack.

Then, suddenly, there the boys were.  My sweat-stache had nearly dried up by that point, and my breathing had slowed to a somewhat normal state, so I made my way over, gave a casual hello (which was literally all my lungs could squeak out) and joined them for another day's walk.  And guess what?  Turns out this Belgian was even more amazing than I had first deduced.  You see, shortly before I left for the Camino, I had made a mental list of all the things I wanted in a partner and all the things I didn't.  Let's call it a 'Hit & Miss' compilation of every man I'd dated over the last 15 years.  Okay, let's say 25 years because there was that boy Davy in preschool who had really bad breath when he kissed me on the playground, and bad breath had definitely made the 'Miss' list from then on out.  (Sorry, Davy, if you're reading this.  You were young.  I'm sure your bad breath phase has since passed, as has my horridly frightful permed hair stage.)

As Hannes and I walked with Juliano and Red, I watched in amazement - 'stupefied' is really the term that best sums up my state of being - as Hannes checked off every last 'Hit' item on my list.  He was patient, sincere, had a great sense of humor, was spiritual but not strictly religious, friendly to anyone and everyone, adventurous, a movie lover (as a film major, that is a must) and had the same seize life with both hands gypsy heart I did.  The man even drove a Campervan!  A modern day gypsy caravan, which I already pictured myself riding in if I must admit.  And he adored his border collie, Luka, so my father and step-mom back home would love him.  If this was a "3 Stooges" movie I would be rubbing my eyes and blinking heavily as if to clear the hallucination before me.  A few more miles, and it became clear he also lacked the items in my 'Miss' list.  He didn't smoke.  Didn't drink much (although he assured me he could make a mean mojito - plus 2).  Wasn't lazy or judgemental.  Wasn't shallow - i.e. he liked women who were natural and curvy (seriously, he's an angel sent from heaven right?)

As we got closer to town, we sat and waited by a canal for Juliano and Red to catch up.  An hour later Red came whizzing by as if her butt was on fire.  A frantic Juliano then informed us that ticks had attacked her while she was using the bushes (note to future pilgrims: when choosing pee-estate, bushes are like long abandoned houses up for sale... you have no clue who or what has made themselves at home inside.)  And that's how I came to guard Red from onlookers under a highway overpass as she pulled down her pants to check for ticks... But that's another story.

Actually, this town of Fromista was ripe with good trail anecdotes, including the fact that as I lay down in bed to rest up for chores and dinner (yes, as a pilgrim you must rest in order to be able to complete the physical act of eating), I discovered the sheets were soaking wet!  The little old ladies who owned the joint had no idea what could have happened (the sheets and not the comforter!  Is that even possible?!), and gave my mom and I a huge room overlooking the main town plaza.  We decided in the future to spill water on the bed if our room was too small.  (If you have ever crammed yourself into a room the size of a coffin after walking 14 miles, you  understand how morality shifts ever so slightly in order for a pilgrim to survive.)

Red & I in our Juliet balconies in Fromista.

The boys had planned to meet up for dinner, once again, and as I leaned against my Juliet balcony purveying the pilgrims in the plane tree plaza below - writing postcards, sharing foot abnormalities, drinking cold Spanish beer - I spied Hannes in the distance with that kind smile of his, chatting away with fellow pilgrims, and I thought to myself, 'I guess Romeos really do exist.'

To be continued...