This is my serialized story of walking the Camino de Santiago across Northern Spain with my sister-in-law. If you’d like to start at the beginning of our journey, click here.
Day 3. As we look ahead, the day will consists of crossing high mountain ridges and deep valleys. We are two days out from Pamplona, our first of four large Spanish cities. But with country roads outside our hostel leading off in various directions, the day begins with us walking the wrong way. Soon we realize we have seen no Camino signs (yellow arrows or blue and yellow sun bursts) nor any other pilgrims on the road. So after two miles (and much discussion looking at our guide books), we decide to turn around and walk back to the hostel. Backtracking for the second of three days, reiterates the need to be sure we know where the trail picks up every time we leave it to find our hostel.
The lanced blister on the big toe of my right foot is now sore, so I take the time to dress my toe with Neosporin and a bandaid. I knew coming into this hike that blisters would be an issue and have brought a plastic bag of suitable medical supplies - much to Marlene’s amazement. Still, we have more than 13 miles to walk today, and I am concerned that this bandaid fix won’t be enough. Earlier, hiking up into the Pyrenees, Marlene suggested we change our socks daily after six miles, which is a great idea. I resolve to put a new bandaid on my toe when we stop. I hate the fact that this is our third day and my one foot is already starting to “break down.”
We return (rather I hobble along, relying on my hiking sticks) to the spot where we left the Camino from the evening before and realize immediately our mistake - the signage has us veering sharply to the right heading out of town (whereas we turned to the left to go to our hostel). The “Way” is well-marked and, ahead of us, clusters of pilgrims are hiking up a tractor path between two harvested fields. Soon we are with the small groups of hikers following a trail that leads us over a forested ridge separating the valley where we spent the night from the one we are entering. It’s a sunny morning and we are in good spirits as we walk down from the ridge and cross the narrow valley.
Here we encounter a cement lane that lead us up a significant hill along the side of a busy road. The mile-long lane appears to be used by local cars and pilgrims alike. It probably had been steeped in mud until the Spanish government paved it over. I can’t help but realize that the walkway, consisting of hundreds of slabs of paving stones embedded in cement, is harder to walk on than the forest trail we just came off of, and it isn’t long before my left foot pad is killing me. I move over to the small path along the side of the lane as it appears others have had similar issues.
Still, the shock that stops me dead in my tracks climbing the steep hill is the pain that shoots up my left foot. All morning, to compensate for the wrapped blister on my toe, I had been distributing as much of my weight onto my left foot, using my hiking poles for support, and now, without being half way to where we need to go for the day, my left foot has given out.
Marlene quickly realizes something is wrong and helps me navigate in tentative steps to a bench fifteen feet up the hill in front of us. She suggests we use the bench to change our socks and take advantage of the bench to redress my foot.
“It’s not the blister on my toe,” I tell her, gritting my teeth. “My foot is killing me.” I unwrap my feet and see a massive blood blister on the pad of my left foot.
How can I continue? The book on feet that I left at home, says you don’t lance blood blisters but are instructed to let them heal on their own. Yet, I have miles to go today to reach the hostel a valley or two over from where we are, and more than thirty days of similar hikes to get across Spain. I have mountains to climb and high chaparral to cross, I have cities and towns to navigate and, if today’s walk is any indication, I have many different types of road conditions to transit. But to quit the Camino three days into the start of this pilgrimage would be horrible.
We sit on the bench for a half-an-hour, if not longer, and I take the time to put a bandaid on my toe and wrap my left foot with gauze and tape. I have put on new pair of socks and tightened my boots. With two ibuprofen pills that Marlene has given me, the temporary rest has done me a world of good. My feet don’t hurt nearly as badly as they did earlier, and I am now aware of many pilgrims, young and old alike, passing us, saying “Bien Camino.” Marlene has been ready to go, but is patiently waiting for me. I am reluctant to move. I don’t want to face the pain of these blisters once again - especially this early in the trip.
I resolve to walk to the top of the hill and slowly stand up and put on my twenty-pound backpack. I tentatively step forward relying on my hiking poles all the more - now to take the weight off my left foot, in particular. The pain is excruciating, but I am able to slowly hobble up the hill where we spot a cafe only 300 yards in front of us. A number of pilgrims are in the cafe taking a break from the trail. We decide to stop, too, and soon I am sitting at a table with coffee and a ham baguette. It’s nice to sit and envision my path forward.
If I can make it to Pamplona, I decide, I can determine whether or not to quit the trip. In truth, though, if I make it to Pamplona, now only a day-and-a-half away, I will not leave Marlene. I will crawl across Spain if I have to. The question for me is: will Marlene quit me, especially if I can’t keep up?
Marlene spots Bob and his wife, Theresa, from our first night and takes a moment to go over to their table. I can see Bob, our church-deacon-in-the-making, not joining in the conversation. Theresa, though, engages in a lively discussion. Marlene tells me later that they stayed at the abby/hostel in Roncevalles on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees and hated it. Bob didn’t get any sleep in the dormitory with all the noise and snoring and is exhausted on this his first big day of walking across Spain.
After a snack - a ham and Swiss cheese baguette for me and a banana for Marlene - we are ready to try the trail in earnest with more than six miles to go. Whether or not it is the break at the cafe, the new bandaid and wrap, the changed socks, or the ibuprofen kicking in, or even the hiking poles becoming an instrumental part of limiting my limp, we are on our way, and I realize that, as my left foot loosens up, if things don’t get worse, I can manage this.
For the moment, I can carry this burden.
The afternoon takes us back into the mountains and we cross from one deep valley to the next. Vistas of the hike, while walking along the ridge lines, remind us of central Pennsylvania and the rib-like ridges of the Alleghenies. Nursing the two blisters has been challenging and driven home the importance of my hiking poles. Thank god, I bought those poles!
Marlene is a trooper - so solid and positive. I am glad to be on the trail with her as I go through this trial with my feet. On the trail, we take our time on the ascents and especially the descents, and enjoy the sections under a beautiful canopy of trees. For the most part we walk alone and we are okay with this.
I am surprised by the deep ruts in the trail at spots, a sign of erosion and runoff, of course, but also of the thousands of pilgrims who have walked these paths before us. With our poles we too are adding to the ruts.
Coming out of a forest high in the mountains, we cross a busy road and pass by a lunch truck with small outdoor seating surrounding the serving window. Marlene is thrilled to see watermelon and buys a slice along with another banana. I welcome the break and purchase an orange soda. We take off our shoes and socks and sit with bicyclists and pilgrims alike and listen to the chatter of many languages. I realize we are in a unique moment sharing time in the mountains. I can’t imagine giving this up.
Later, in the late afternoon, after hiking to Larrasoana, we struggle to find our hostel, which is not at all what I need at this point, but, at least, we learned our lesson from earlier and have memorized where we left the Camino. The hostel we discover is operated by two men who we can’t decide are either gay or brothers. But, regardless, they have made a welcoming environment for us and its a relief to be done for the day. The second floor bedroom we share is roomy with two single beds, but we also share communal bathrooms in the hallway with others who have reserved for the night. I hobble along the hallways and struggle up and down the steps as we hang our hand-washed clothes outside on the clotheslines to dry.
That evening we enjoy a pilgrim’s dinner and a beer on the back yard patio of a local restaurant nearby. The restaurant is more like a beach bar with flags of pilgrim countries hanging on the walls. Several groups of young people in what appear to be their twenties are hanging out and drinking at the surrounding tables. We recognize that we have moved from pilgrims our age to a bubble of young hikers who each in their own way seem to be traveling as if on summer break. I can’t imagine what they are doing here in the fall or if they ever have had blisters to deal with. I want their health and easy camaraderie in sharing this month-long journey on the Way.
This one was hard to read, I can almost feel the pain of that blood blister! Ouch!