Passing through one of those small towns about 50km from Santiago in what had become at that point a continuous overflow of pilgrims - I'm sure the locals thought they had to be careful not to be stepped on - we came upon this very short, very elderly woman dressed all in black walking with some difficulty and with what I would guess to be her daughter. Like us, going in the direction of Santiago. I said, "¿To Santiago?" And she said, "Of course. Wait for me there". I said I would save her a seat at the cathedral and her daughter said, "Look at how nicely they speak our language"! The inference being that anybody going to Santiago wouldn't speak Spanish.
We arrived at an albergue in La Rioja before it opened. We took off our packs and sat in the street for over an hour eating from what we could find in our packs and chatting with other pilgrims as they arrived. Finally, at the appointed opening hour a woman appeared to check us in. She lined us up; boots here, walking sticks there, have your credentials ready. She showed us our beds and as she left someone said we have arrived at the "Cuartel" - “barracks", probably, but a term largely reserved for a headquarters of the Guardia Civil. Ms. Polo said, "Si, and it has a Sargenta"! - making feminine a normally masculine noun.
Almost all of us had blisters on our feet, but we met an Italian walking on such blisters that it looked really dangerous. He had been advised to lay over until he healed up, but the next day we overtook him on the way into Logroño. We spoke to him briefly, asked how he was doing - it was obvious he wasn't doing well and he said so himself. But we went on ahead anyway thinking there wasn't much we could do. I felt so badly. Shortly after we stopped at a lagoon that was reportedly a good birding spot. It's a couple of hundred meters off the camino, but you can see quite a distance. There were 2 other Italians resting there. I told them that one of their countrymen was having difficulty and to watch for him. Later we found him again, quite by accident, in a restaurant. He had made it in on his own. He told us he had seen a doctor and that he was indeed going to lay over.
A Dutchman who was volunteering in one of the albergues as part of a mission with a religious order and who was trying to redirect his life after his wife of 35 years had left him - he had a trike (in Holland) and had made an aerodynamic shell for it. What better place to find yourself and start over? There were other examples.
A Slovenian girl, tall, very beautiful, very, very well educated; there was a conversation about something nearby that she should see and she said, "Why not? I have all the time I have." As though what ever brought her there wasn't worth going back to. Shocking, because we should suppose someone with her talent and intelligence to be very busy. There are far too many young people in Europe today with little to do.
A young Swedish girl, pierced, tattooed, smart too, not what you would think would gravitate toward old men; we had a long conversation. She was going back to nursing school and starting over too.
One of the surprises was the number of Asians we encountered. We followed a group of sometimes 3 and sometimes 4 Koreans for a few days. We would pass them on the trail as they were resting. Or, they would pass us. Then we would see them again in the evening. I had told one of them that I had done business in Seoul. I guess we eventually became familiar enough that one of the girls thought it safe to "interview" me. She asked me about the business, my experience in Korea, why we were walking the camino, whose decision it was, how far we had come? I think it's a curiosity among the young to find couples who have been together so long. It's a curiosity too to see so many interesting and smart young people.
In much the same way we kept running into a girl from the Philippines - first, someplace before Logroño. She had lived in L.A. and was presently living on Santiago de Chile. The last time we saw her - several hundred kilometers on in Hospital de Órbigo - she had joined up with 2 Englishmen. She said they enjoyed having her along because they thought she spoke Spanish (which she did quite well).
The "spiritual" Austrian girl, marathon runner, carried a pack as big as mine (not so heavy, I hope), was walking half again as far as we would in a day, played Mozart on the jukebox; we checked into an albergue dead tired and she was singing and dancing, dancing in the halls! On her toes! Everybody else's toes were wrecked. She taught us an exercise to relieve pain by touching the backs of our hand 7 times, then the other hand...I forget the whole routine. She was disappointed with other walkers for not being sufficiently spiritual. Nobody wanted to walk with her! But, she'll find herself (if she hasn't).
A retired draftsman and artist, Catalan, who had lived years in France and was volunteering in an albergue; he had walked the camino 3 times. He showed us a portfolio of drawings that he had made - some from the 1950's. We had a long discussion about modern art and the work that hangs in the Museo Reina Sophia. We talked about what we liked and didn't.
A Dutch couple with whom we shared supper several nights between Burgos and Carrión; I introduced them to Manchego cheese and the wine opener on the back of a Swiss Army knife. Americans come with everything. They shared what they had with us. We didn't have a language in common and so were never really able to have a conversation.
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