Category: Blogolicious

I’ve never played an escape room. I’m pretty sure I get the concept though; be presented with problems to solve and be rewarded when you accomplish as such.

Every single day has been an escape room of sorts on our European adventure.

I’m absolutely not complaining, I love the challenge of it. It’s just a stark realization that’s there’s so many things I take for granted as knowing how to negotiate.

It’s been intentional that the plan for this trip has been made up on the fly. Somehow, it’s mostly gone okay. Which is baffling since we’ve had events such as
◦ weather cancelled flights,
◦ throngs of people in our temporary neighborhood to witness the historic event of a Chicagoan Pope, and
◦ earthquakes in both cities we’ve been to in one day
And that’s just to name a few.

With all the constantly varying tasks like procuring daily sustenance and lodging, hiccups were probably inevitable.

I got the days wrong of when the flight back to Madrid is. Maybe that wouldn’t have been a big deal if earthquakes in both Rome AND Naples yesterday didn’t booger up the trains.

Our cancelled flight resulted in us being booked on an even better plane. Some cancelled flights get you a hotel room. Cancelled and seriously delayed trains have different compensation; the Trenitalia “courtesy box.”

We rolled back into room far too late to obtain any lodging under $600. I’m way too cheap for that.

So accompanied by my Trenitalia water bottle, cookie, chips like Italian things, and my grown up baby wipe; it was off to where I incorrectly thought we’d needed to be; Leonardo DaVinci Airport.

Stuck.

The train cookie served me well. I fought sleep a while but Brian proclaimed it was time to homestead. The city of Rome shuns sitting unless you’re smoking while sipping from tiny espresso mugs so there are few if any chairs. So our homestead followed suit with others and on the marble floor we lay.

I’ll be 54 in a 10 days. I’ve walked so much in the last week and a half that I’m losing no less than one toenail. I’m not well suited for sleeping on a marble floor, but the cookie wore off and down I went.

Maybe an hour had passed before I heard what was a scolding tone from a firey Italian lady cop. There’s so much passion in all communication that I’m never sure what is and isn’t yelling. The “madame!” over and over though was accompanied by gentle lady cop boots against my smelly hikers. Lady cop boots aren’t heeled, but they vibe like they are. Ans with that, I was able to add a second Italian scolding to my bingo card of countries I’ve annoyed.

I really hoped she’d go away. She didn’t. Not because I wanted to continue to lay on the floor, but because I was so stiff and sore that I knew I would look completely indigent as I slowly righted myself. As a sober tourist in wine’s glorious roots, I don’t want any one to get a wrong opinion. “Madam! You HAVE to get up!”

I rose with the grace of a reanimated corpse. Then I shit talked the Roman airport for the remainder of the morning.

Eventually the sub rose and the busses and trains started to run again. The plot twist of having my days wrong led to a great side quest to an Air Bnb in Focene where I come to you from now where I bask in the sense of completion and wonder how things will go in a couple hours: “Will the do-it-yourself” hotelier actually show on time to get us to the airport? Will TSA be filled with the same rudesters as today who clearly skipped manners day? Will the airline communique continue to be in German only to translate to French? Etc.

I’m sure there’s more to say, but I’m falling asleep and have a lot escape room activity ahead of me tomorrow!

Thanks for reading!

If you’re wondering how trip is going, I just blew shrapnel off my phone from a baguette that was roughly 50 cents for an unlawful amount of deliciousness.

Porto, Portugal is filled with bright colors, steep hills, and more glorious architecture. We took a bus from Santiago De Compostela to the airport here. We caught an uber with only a slight amount of frustration as we learned the airport has levels. Fernando was pissed at us, but by the time the 16 mile death defying ride was over, he came around enough to tip us off to must see sights, the clock tower, the train station, and the “most beautiful McDonald’s in the world.”

We paid $28/per person for lodging and breakfast in an incredible location. Before this trip, we’ve never stayed in hostels before. As of last night, we’ve now stayed in 7. I guess our number was up for stays without complication.

Firstly, Brian was essentially bullied into sleeping on the top bunk by a well intended Korean man via google translate. His wife was on their bottom bunk presumably as an act of protection because at some point some woman fell off a top bunk and was seriously injured. As best I could tell, the woman was on maybe some reality show but he seemed genuinely worried about lady top bunk safety.

If you don’t know, Brian is afraid of heights which is always hilarious because at 6’4”, he is a height. But he didn’t want to offend our roommates by putting my life at risk. It wasn’t worth the argument with the kindly gentleman that I’m far more likely to die by the collapse of the a non-osha approved bunk bed.

None of this tainted our experience at all though.

But then came mucus man. The dorm had 3 bunk beds on the bed nearest me was a man who non stop through the night repeatedly choked on his own mucus and intermittently stopped breathing only to follow up with fiercely loud gasps.

On the upside, this certainly helped me get up early and get moving.

We walked over 6 miles wandering around our location. Up each hill and around each corner would be some previously unseen amazingness. Fernando steered up well. We absolutely ate at the world’s most beautiful McDonalds. Worth it! We also found ourselves at a mass again. It was maybe in Portuguese. Then we headed back to the hostel to retrieve our packs and so I could use the free WiFi to secure a room for the night. The room from which I’m typing now. Across from the bath room that just. For. Us.

We’ve earned some stripes as Hostel inhabitants, but tomorrow’s flight goes out at 0’ dark thirty and we don’t need miss our flight because we were worried mucus man stopped breathing.

Adeus, Porto!

Obrigado por ler!

As you recall, there was no real plan to this trip at all. So it was exciting to think we’d actually make the one loose plan that was formulated of “I think we can walk 20 miles a day and get there in 4.”

Unfortunately, we learned on day one that this would be hard on account of the hills we didn’t know there were. Also, turns out it was 88 miles. Nonetheless, as we got closer yesterday, it occurred to me we may pull that off.

This resulted in us finding our $10 per person cot WITH A CURTAIN, dropping our heavy bags and just following the herd.

My world was shook before we even saw “it.”

Always a sucker for bagpipes in striking acoustic settings, the hair on my arms stood at full attention as we entered the tunnel to Santiago de Compostela square. When we rounded the corner, uninvited tears leaked out.

The amount of detail and effort that went into making such ornate aesthetics is staggering. And to think, they did it all out of their passion to honor the glory of God. Not because they saw ideas about open concepts on Property Brothers, or because the HOA requires it, but because they felt moved to praise via stone carvings that have outlasted generations. Seeing it all feels like time travel and is emotionally overwhelming to say the least.

Yesterday was a quick bounce around the square for a couple of hours just to say we made it in the 4 days. Today we spent more hours in the same spot and still I don’t think I can say we’ve seen 1/100th of its splendor.

Also today, my proclivity for data hoarding because I’m cheap led to a happy accident. I haven’t been using google translate. Which is why I thought we were in the right place for an 11 am Pilgrim’s Mass.

We weren’t.

But, we were in very excellent seats for the main mass at noon.

Everything was surreal. The sound of operatic singing in what I’m 72% sure was Latin echoing off stone walls, the pageantry of the alter service that included no less than 6 priests, the flying of the bonafumerio burning incense the same as it has for centuries to bless (and cover the smell of) pilgrims (for real), the art, the throngs of people on a random Tuesday morning all there for the same reason, and so much more.

They’re prepared to give mass to the masses. Maybe because this has been a pilgrimage destination since the 9th century. Mass was not in English, but orientation to it was presented by retiree looking voluntario women. The way the Irish woman said “Cat-tead-ral” was magical.

This trip has been totally do-able, and highly recommended. And though I could absolutely stay here the rest of the two weeks and subsist on chocolate croissants and bomb ass coffee, the WiFi is free at the hostel and train tickets are easy to come by. I look forward to seeing what Portugal has to share.

Thanks for reading! (And go to Spain)

Her name was Frankie. At least I think that’s what it was. She was the counterpart to our mountain climbing guide when we climbed Mt Shasta. Frankie had a smile a mile wide and was skilled enough to stop an entire capsized chain of grown humans from plummeting to their death, but Frankie smelled very bad. Frankie did not seem to care at all about it either.

I know that I’m not a real pilgrim or mountaineer, but moving from place to place and walking long distances in gear that makes me sweat and not having access to the vast number of clothes I use in a regular day at home has made me think about how Frankie may have been on to something. If you love mountains and are a professional guide, you’re not really using scent as a way to measure your own happiness.

This little walkabout has taught me that I’m not the chill, hippie chick I sometimes like to try to convince myself I am. I love to wear patchouli, or as more than one of my coworkers has accidentally called it “chipotle.” But putting some Orchard Nutrition elixir on after a nice hot shower isn’t the same.

In a couple days we’ll do a proper laundry. But then, those clothes will get similar abuse as my current filthy hiking pants are getting.

2 weeks is a long time to carry a backpack around. It needed to be light as possible. Sink laundry and hanging things to dry is very popular on this adventure. It’s even common to carry some still-drying clothes outside your pack. After all, you’re walking around for over nine hours. May as well be a walking clothes line.

This has worked mostly well. Sure, I wasn’t super proud to see my Costco Puma chonies hanging off the Kuiu backpack next to my reusable, antimicrobal cloth that says “piss off”; but at least my butt will have a “clean” pair of chonies later in the week.

If this was a mountain or primitive hike, or if everyone did it the same way, perhaps I would think less about it. However, today chonie pack and I sat on the same restaurant patio as real Spaniards. And though I know it’s not proper to generalize a country’s inhabitants, the Spanish seem to take looking good seriously. Add to that that a lot of pilgrims are staying in fancy rooms, and are having their luggage transported for them from one walk point to the next. This means that whilst I’m just hoping I don’t smell like Frankie, I’ll pass someone whose laundry smells fresh enough to make anyone question their ability to be clean.

I’m not fretting though. These folks won’t likely see me (or smell me) again. So far the closest person we’ve encountered was good ol’ Jim and Renee and they are from all the way in Florida.

Today was over 18 miles. It stayed similar in that there were a lot of people of all varieties in the morning, then the afternoon was less than 10. We procured a hostel for the night and will learn how well sleep is going to go and also will learn how their chocolate bread stacks up.

I smell awful. I SHOULD take a shower, but I presently don’t trust my legs or my feet to do their job right now. 

We spent a little over 8 hours waking 21.6 miles today. After the hostel we lucked into last night came alive this morning, we fell into line with a very different experience than yesterday. There was a highway of people all headed in the same direction. It’s so wild to see people that you have zero idea where they’re from, can’t predict their language before it comes out, don’t know their experiences, but you  do know exactly where they’re headed. 

After a quick meal of coffee better than any I’ve ever tasted and that cursed chocolate bread, we headed out. 

There were so very many hills today. At a total evelvation gain of only 2,400 feet, they weren’t insurmountable hills, but for someone who thought there were no hills, it seemed like a lot. 

Since today was the Costco Camino, we had opportunity to get in conversation with strangers. The London Japanese guy strongly recommends travel to Malaysia. His oldest daughter trains in jui-jitsu, and he’s contemplating taking the family to Mexico City to vacation because he thinks that will suit everyone. (*shrug)

We also met Renee and Jim who are 31 days in to their trip in which they are trying to fundraise $5000 to support their local Christian Athletes program They lost a mini Aussie 2 years ago named Tessa. She’d lived a full 16 years and is still missed. 

The I-5 level of people mostly peeled off at at town called Palas de Rei. I thought we may stop there and try to find lodging instead on we pressed.

I’m not a Camino expert, but it seems that there are the big stops that draw the crowds  that are set about 15 miles apart. Then, along the trail there is hit or miss in the way of lodging. We decided to chance it and like any good emotional roller coaster will do, it was a great idea when we walked on with the trail to ourselves, then it was horrible as every hostel we found was closed, then back to bliss when we landed on a cute hostel that looks straight out of a fairy tale. I’m not basing that description entirely on the fact that there is a bona fide toilet, but it also didn’t hurt its appeal. Peeing on the trail with legs you can’t trust is its own adventure. And here I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to work out.

Also, it seems very clear that the bulk of folks start and stop at the same times. After the masses peeled off in town, the trail was mostly ours again. I couldn’t tell you how many hundreds we shared with from 8:30 till 3:00, but from then till 5:30 there were a total of 5 people on the trail with us.

Today’s scenery continued to stun. There’s far too much to try to capture either in words or pictures.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow has to show, or to learn who has the best of that frickin’ chocolate bread. 

I planned the flights, one night stay in Madrid, and a ride on a couple of trains to get to the start point.

That’s where the planning ended.

I wasn’t sure if we would stay in Sarria today and then start the trek tomorrow. Then, the crowd of people who got off the train with the same objective of walking the Camino looked exactly like the wildebeest stampede scene in Lion King (the original), only with the wildebeests pulling roller luggage. Yes, we chose to carry everything we need for 2 weeks in Europe on our backs, but there are services that will transport luggage for you.

A rule of the Camino is you don’t judge the way others make their trek. But, we DO say that if we see anyone of those f’ers posting on social media like they’re out there roughing it whilst their excessive luggage is moved along for them that we will cast shade upon them.

The stampede coupled with the knowledge that there are 200,000 people a year making this same stretch of trek put me in Rainman Mode.

We got off the train, walked to a grocery store where I got deli potato egg thing and some highly addictive chocolate croissant things and then just started walking. Did we stop for important things like getting a pilgrim’s passport? Or perhaps some cash? Naw, dog. We just looked for the first yellow arrow and stepped towards it. And repeat.

I wasn’t sure we’d walk at all today since it wasn’t until 2 pm here that we got to Sarria, but we did over 14 miles. Oh! And, guess what. I’ve been telling everyone it’s 100 km. It’s actually 113. That extra 8 miles doesn’t sound like much, but damn!

We were caught in a torrential storm with hail. We had no cash to get snacks. But we had the path nearly to ourselves save a few cows, random farmers, a group of tutu clad mountain bikers, and thankfully that couple who was walking the other way and waved us down to let us know we’d missed a turn. The trail is very clearly marked, but as we got tired we missed one of those arrows. It was silly to be on the wrong path, but seriously fortuitous to encounter the ONLY people walking the opposite way at that time. Muchas gracias to the for the assist.

Perhaps the lightning and flash flood warnings were heeded by other pilgrims

If you’re thinking I’m picking up the language, lemme set that straight. I have no idea what the pin pad is saying to me. It’s a challenge I am unprepared for.

As the afternoon wore into evening, my drenched feet made me want to land in a bed soon. I began to walk fast and with a cranky purpose. We had no idea where we would land and if they would take cold, hard American plastic. Thankfully there was a room available in Portomarin. That’s right, we got a private room with a private bathroom at this Alburge (hostel). But remember, we don’t judge the pilgrimage of others. We also had a great dinner from their pilgrim’s menu. I nearly picked the chicken thigh and drumstick bones clean enough they could go back in a chicken. And more bread!

We will see how many of the remaining miles we can click off tomorrow. Since I’d gotten so focused on getting landed for the night, I was walking at a good clip. I kept assuring Brian that it’s okay and that I’m sure there will be cool stuff to see tomorrow too. I also told him that we’re aiming for 20 miles tomorrow.

“We‘ll see about that” he tells me.

I’m nosy. There’s no two ways about it. It’s an asset with my work, and the curiosity it brings adds flavor to life overall. You know, like when I get curious about what it might be like to take a walk in Spain.

But also, being nosy comes with costs. I just spent sometime chilling in the lobby of Nakatomi Towers here in Madrid.That’s not really what it’s called but every building with glass elevators IS Nakatomi Towers to a Cottonwoodian like myself.

Even though it’s pre 5 am local time, there were a handful of conversations happening in my proximity. None were in English, and see, the thing about my Spanish is I don’t have any. At all. (Sorry poor clerk at the store who was just trying to ask me if I needed a bag).

It occurred to me that a nice consequence of not knowing the language is that I can’t get caught up in the stories of others. By contrast, yesterday the shuttle to Nakatomi had other Americans on it (ew.).

They were loudly discussing what foods to order for their small auxiliary sized dog who’s probably lived greater adventures than I ever will. Emphasis on “loudly.” Aunt Mary is right, Americans are the loudest tourists.

According to Loud Lady, the American Pup likes ham, but would probably tolerate chicken breast better. “I don’t want her tummy to get upset” says the woman next to the woman who has thus far fueled international travel with Dollar Tree pork rinds and over-priced airport Diet Coke.

Today we get to try out things like high-speed trains and whatnot. I’m guessing that a little Espanol would be beneficial, however I’m okay giving my nosy self the day off.