tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1070774602785906102024-03-13T12:23:46.120-04:00mprat's world travelsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-75021853025763872442017-01-24T21:12:00.003-05:002017-01-24T21:12:54.387-05:00Tea party on Mt. LibertyAlternatively known as the Liber-tea hike. Get it?<br />
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Maddie, James, Emilie and I decided to lead a trip up Mt. Liberty in the Whites last weekend for the second week of Winter School. We carried up sleds to sled down! We even managed to summit before our turnaround time.<br />
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And we had a proper tea party on the way up. Jeremy was amused. And apparently I'm bad at taking photos with my glove liners.<br />
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Too bad it was super foggy at the top. At least the tea party lived on.<br />
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Unfortunately, James bummed his knee, but we got to drag him out on the snowmobile part of the way on a sled, and a nice snowmobiler drove him the rest of the way to the cars.<br />
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The weather was super warm so we all got pretty wet sledding downhill, but we all had a great time! Woohoo winter school!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-19386981719655093822014-02-03T05:10:00.000-05:002014-02-07T09:37:21.551-05:00Media Noche Salsa Jerusalem: German? English? Russian? Hebrew?<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In trying to find open, interesting, and fun communities around the world you always come across gems like these.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Media Noche</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was surprised to hear that Jerusalem had a vibrant salsa scene, with salsa occurring almost every night of the week if you know the venue. I am slowly trying all of them, so on Monday night I went to <a href="http://www.media-noche.org/#jerusalem_group">Media Noche Jerusalem Salsa</a>. Media Noche Salsa is an Israeli (all-volunteer) salsa group that comes together once a week to do salsa lessons and then open dancing in the Cuban style of salsa. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While there are at least 3 Media Noche Salsa groups in Jerusalem, the one called "Media Noche Salsa Jerusalem" is held in the <a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?q=20+etsel+jerusalem&hl=en&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=37.188995,57.392578&hnear=20+Etsel,+Yerushalayim&t=m&z=16">French Hill / Givat Shapira / Mt. Scopus</a> neighborhood of Jerusalem, right next to the Hebrew University campus at Mt. Scopus. The space does not belong to the Hebrew U, but is used for free from an elementary school (Frankel Hill) in the area. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every Monday at 9pm, the "warm-up dance" starts, more like a group exercise class than a salsa lesson. After 15 minutes or so, there are a series of announcements (in Hebrew, you notice a few patterns after a while), and then the 100-person throng of people break up into smaller groups of about 20 to have small-group-style lessons for about an hour, then open dancing until 1am. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Salsa in Hebrew? German? English? Russian?</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I decided to post a message in the weekly Media Noche Facebook event before going to ask whether it would be OK if I showed up without any knowledge of Hebrew (knowing English and Russian). I only realized later that this was a silly thing to say - the majority of communication between dance partners is non-verbal. So I got ready for a lost conversational evening, but hopefully one filled with some fun dancing. With a slight lack of foresight I was wearing an MIT tshirt and a sweatshirt that day in the office, so I was going to go out dancing wearing no-too-flattering clothes. Oh well; it was Monday, I hadn't been social in a while, and I was itching to go dancing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because all the announcements, instructions, and directions were all in Hebrew, I was pretty lost for the first 10 seconds of any sentence. What I realized after the fact was that at the end of the announcements, the 6 volunteer instructors stated their levels of instruction (in Hebrew) so people could divide themselves appropriately. Everyone started moving around and I just gazed stupidly at the guy who had made the announcements, unsure of where I should go. Luckily I had been dancing salsa for years (and even knew a bit of <i>rueda</i>, which would come in handy), so it didn't really matter which group I would be put in. A savior took pity on me and kept repeating a sentence in Hebrew that included a word that sounded like "master", so I took his hand and joined that circle. By dumb luck, it was the circle that was led by Doron, the same man who had made all the announcements in Hebrew (I assume he was the host for the evening). </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was talked at for a bit in Hebrew until I got the point across that I speak English. So Doron naturally kept making jokes in hybrid Hebrew and.... German. The lesson was indeed advanced rueda / salsa spins and moves, and it was a ton of fun. Not knowing Hebrew was only a disadvantage for my partner for the first 10 seconds - after the second time I could basically figure out what I needed to do. And luckily, many spoke basic English. In the <i>enchufla</i>-ridden rueda style of Cuban salsa, the dancers stand in a circle in pairs, men on the right and women on the left. The partners dance for a while and switch partners. In the switch, the men rotate to a new partner counter-clockwise and the women switch clockwise. When it was my turn to dance with Doron, he continued making jokes in broken German, to a laughing crowd. The most I could do was smile and nod. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally he got to asking me what languages I speak, so I say "English, <i>ruski</i>, <i>español</i>", to which he says "So ... you're not German? Jeez, I wasted all those German jokes..." and then proceeded to make jokes in broken Russian. Turns out, dancers are silly people. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The lesson ended and the free dancing started, which I was happy to learn that the men asked all the women who were looking for partners to dance, no questions asked. In broken Hebrew, English, and Russian, I met people who were studying at Hebrew U, working as teachers, trying to start companies, programming computers, and everything in between. I pretended to know more Hebrew than I actually did, so I did a fair share of smiling and nodding as the evening progressed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The atmosphere</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I left Media Noche with a smile and sore shins - exactly what I had hoped for. I did not need a command of Hebrew (and you figure out really quickly what is right and left - <i>yameen</i> and <i>shmol</i> and variants thereof, for those that are curious), and felt comfortable jumping right into a friendly environment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I loved the open, fun, and inclusive atmosphere at Media Noche - it reminded me of open swing at MIT, and I hope to be coming back there many times in the future.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-38736559303289747382014-01-18T08:21:00.000-05:002014-02-01T09:23:26.834-05:00Birzeit vs. MIT<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/">Birzeit University</a> was the first university to be established in Palestine (for some definition of established and Palestine), but the indisputable facts are that it first opened it's doors for student enrollment in 1924 near the village of Birzeit near the (now West Bank) city of Ramallah, about 20 km northeast of Jerusalem. Today it is considered one of the premiere learning institutions in the Middle East. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Comparing to MIT: Stats</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because my comparison to universities comes from my own alma mater, MIT, I find it easiest to compare basic facts. </span><br />
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<table border="2" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3"><tbody>
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<th>Characteristic</th>
<th><b>MIT</b></th>
<th><b>Birzeit</b></th>
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<td>Undergraduate enrollment </td>
<td>4528 (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/enrollment.html">Source</a>)</td>
<td>8465 (<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/undergraduate">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Graduate enrollment</td>
<td>6773 (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/enrollment.html">Source</a>)</td>
<td>1388 (<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/facts">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Percentage of females</td>
<td>45% female in undergraduate programs, 31% female in graduate programs (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/enrollment.html">Source</a>)</td>
<td>64% female (<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/facts">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Housing</td>
<td>~75% live in on-campus housing, about 90% live in MIT-affiliated housing (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/housing.html">Source</a>)</td>
<td>Most students live off campus, either at home or in the nearby Ramallah, Birzeit, or al-Bireh (no definitive source on this, gathered from asking a few Birzeit students)</td>
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<td>Urban environment</td>
<td>In Cambridge, MA; Greater Boston (population ~2 million)</td>
<td>20km north Jerusalem, 2 km east of Ramallah (population ~27000); suburban environment (<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/location">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Departments / majors</td>
<td>46 B.S. programs, > 24 post-graduate programs (including PhD and ScD) (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/degrees.html">Source</a></td>
<td>47 B.A. programs, 26 M.A. programs (<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/undergraduate/faculties">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Semester structure</td>
<td>2 semesters + 1 IAP + 1 summer semester</td>
<td>2 semesters + 2 summer semesters(<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/undergraduate/faculties">Source</a>)</td>
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<td>Yearly (undergraduate) tuition</td>
<td>$43210 (<a href="http://web.mit.edu/facts/faqs.html">Source</a>)</td>
<td>48 Jordanian dinars / credit hour; ~140 credit hours per major - ~$8500 total(<a href="http://www.birzeit.edu/node/31074">Source</a>)</td>
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</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Visiting</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I was lucky enough to go with Sadek (who is graduating from Birzeit this June) to see the university for myself. We started the morning at 8am leaving Jerusalem (we had to allot time to get through the traffic that would inevitably happen at a checkpoint before we crossed into the West Bank). His classes started at 9am, so for three hours I wandered the campus, poking into every single building, museum, lobby, hangout area, and open space that I could find. I wanted to get a feel for the campus and it's life uninhibited - I wanted to see what it was like to be a student at Birzeit for a morning. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here is a collection of observations about Birzeit, using MIT as a benchmark. </span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As a woman not wearing hijab, I felt in the minority. But not for the reason you think - the campus is about 65% women. It turns out that the majority of women wear hijab and adhere to the stereotypical versions of Islamic dress. Of course, there are plenty of women on campus who do NOT where hijab, but I felt that my uncovered blonde hair was in the minority. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The walls of the buildings were off-white. No posters, no advertisements, no photographs, no awards. In every building (except for the civil engineering hallway in the engineering building and half of a hallway in the business building) seem to boast or advertise for accomplishments of students and staff. The surface feeling you get from walking around is that either students are not encouraged to advertise, or they are actively banned from advertising. In either case, the multi-color that is present in any hallway of MIT is not there at Birzeit. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are no easily-accessible computer labs. Walking through a hallway at MIT you will see lounges, computer labs, benches, hangout spaces, etc. Walking through the hallway at Birzeit you do see benches everywhere, but few common study spaces where someone can sit with their computer and work. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There is no open wifi everywhere on campus. My bubble world of MIT has taught me that I can have strong wifi anywhere I want. Apparently this is not the case at every other university - there is a strong protected network, but no open wifi. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are no carts of stuff moving back and forth. MIT's labs are either glass-walled or spread across parts of campus. There are constantly students, professors, staff moving carts of science, engineering, and interesting things all across campus. This is not the case at Birzeit. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, as is the norm at most American universities, each major or department has it's own building - there is no MIT norm of connected buildings, fluid and non-rigid differences between departments, and unclear boundaries between buildings.</span></li>
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Jerusalem, Israel31.768319 35.21370999999999231.552388 34.89098649999999 31.984250000000003 35.536433499999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-90470273366653551832013-12-18T11:06:00.000-05:002013-12-18T11:06:14.782-05:00Jerusalem Coffeeshops / Brunch / Breakfast Spots<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Living in a foreign country / environment teaches you a lot about your priorities. One of the things I discovered I like to do is eat breakfast / brunch on a weekend morning, and read, work, blog, write, and code in a café with wifi after brunch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because Jerusalem is a city where the three main populations have three different modes of weekend, finding the "perfect brunch spot" was quite a challenge. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My ideal set of characteristics for a brunch spot / coffeeshop is: </span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, or some kind of beverage</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Cheap good food to eat</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Unlimited free wifi</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A power outlet</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Working phone service</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking distance from home</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Open on Fridays and Saturdays</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The staff let you sit as long as you want</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Notice how I don't care if the staff speaks English or not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After exploring the city a bit on foot, I've made this ordered list of my favorite coffeeshops / brunch spots in Jerusalem. I have not ventured to find coffee shops accessible only by bus / train, since I didn't want to spend the time or money doing so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My recommendation is to not sit at places like Aroma Café or Café Hillel, which are just coffee shop chains with bad coffee that cater completely to foreign tourists. Try for the more interesting coffeeshops / brunch places along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Places with Wifi</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. The <a href="https://www.facebook.com/gallery.cafe.jerusalem">Gallery Cafe</a> in Sheikh Jarrah</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My favorite place by far. They have the cheapest breakfast / brunch option of all the places I have been. For 15 NIS, you can get eggs, toast, and a small cucumber / tomato salad. For another 12 NIS or so you can get a cappucino. They have outlets, unlimited wifi, phone service, and are a 15/20 minute walk from my apartment. Usually their hours are 10am to 10pm, but they are sometimes closed on Fridays.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. The <a href="http://www.educationalbookshop.com/">Educational Bookshop</a> in Bab Az-Zahra</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Not only a cafe, but also a bookshop where you can buy your mostly-Israeli-and-Palestinian-conflict-themed books. They also have a selection of translators, phrasebooks, guidebooks, and the like. The staff are extremely friendly, speak amazing English, and offer a range of coffees, teas, sandwiches, and light snacks for a decent price. They have the best hours of all the coffeeshops I frequent - the owners cater to foreigners and don't often close for holidays and weekends.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=educational+bookshop&aq=&sll=31.791695,35.236759&sspn=0.020938,0.042272&ie=UTF8&hq=educational+bookshop&hnear=&ll=31.78408,35.232617&spn=0.01047,0.021136&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=14920047900279937631&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=educational+bookshop&aq=&sll=31.791695,35.236759&sspn=0.020938,0.042272&ie=UTF8&hq=educational+bookshop&hnear=&ll=31.78408,35.232617&spn=0.01047,0.021136&t=m&z=14&iwloc=A&cid=14920047900279937631" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Cafes / coffeeshops / brunch places Jerusalem</a> in a larger map</small></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/%D7%A7%D7%A4%D7%94-%D7%A4%D7%A8%D7%99%D7%96-Caf%C3%A9-De-Paris/283012095062537">Café de Paris</a> in Rechavia</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Good wifi, outlets, and a big breakfast are definitely pluses for this coffeeshop. The drawback is that it is closed on Saturdays. The staff speaks very good English and you can sit as long as you want to nurse that coffee.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">4. <a href="http://www.tmol-shilshom.co.il/en/home/default.aspx">Tmol Shilshom</a> off of Jaffa Street in Nachlaot</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">First and foremost a bookshop, Tmol Shilshom is the counterpart (not the equivalent) of the Educational Bookshop in the west side of Jerusalem. There are occasionally chats with literary figures, a selection of books, and a selection of decent breakfast items. The average cost for a plate of food is around 50 NIS (a bit more than I'd like to pay for a weekly brunch outing where I can get better-tasting food at The Gallery Café for half the price) and lacking power outlets, they have wifi, a good atmosphere, and a friendly staff.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> <iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=tmol+shilshom&aq=&sll=31.925115,34.998348&sspn=0.669031,1.352692&ie=UTF8&hq=tmol+shilshom&hnear=&t=m&cid=16880391915991375636&ll=31.782612,35.223069&spn=0.012768,0.018239&z=15&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br /><small><a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=tmol+shilshom&aq=&sll=31.925115,34.998348&sspn=0.669031,1.352692&ie=UTF8&hq=tmol+shilshom&hnear=&t=m&cid=16880391915991375636&ll=31.782612,35.223069&spn=0.012768,0.018239&z=15&iwloc=A" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Places just for breakfast / brunch without wifi</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. <a href="http://www.cafparadiso.rest-e.co.il/">Cafe Paradiso</a> in Rechavia</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A selection of good food, but a bit on the expensive side. I do like their cappucinos though. Also closed on Saturdays.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> <iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=210442562106403623190.0004ed95640cdef798cec&ie=UTF8&ll=31.792917,35.232971&spn=0,0&t=m&iwloc=0004ed95c0615506aa808&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=210442562106403623190.0004ed95640cdef798cec&ie=UTF8&ll=31.792917,35.232971&spn=0,0&t=m&iwloc=0004ed95c0615506aa808&source=embed" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Cafes / coffeeshops / brunch places Jerusalem</a> in a larger map</small></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. <a href="http://www.mamillahotel.com/MamillaCafe">Mamila Café</a> in Mamila</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A selection of good food that for being in Mamila, a shopping complex right in the middle of town next to the Old City, is reasonably priced. The drawback is that they are closed on Saturday mornings. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> <iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=210442562106403623190.0004ed95640cdef798cec&ie=UTF8&t=m&ll=31.778854,35.224893&spn=0.006384,0.00912&z=16&output=embed" width="425"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msa=0&msid=210442562106403623190.0004ed95640cdef798cec&ie=UTF8&t=m&ll=31.778854,35.224893&spn=0.006384,0.00912&z=16&source=embed" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Cafes / coffeeshops / brunch places Jerusalem</a> in a larger map</small></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Jerusalem, Israel31.768319 35.21370999999999231.552388 34.89098649999999 31.984250000000003 35.536433499999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-90244412650906046782013-12-14T14:40:00.001-05:002013-12-15T07:30:39.664-05:00Jerusalem Snowstorm of 2013, or 15 MITOC Winter School Lessons for Snowstorms and Bad Weather<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The largest snowstorm in the last 50 years hit the <a href="http://www.timesofisrael.com/worst-storm-in-decades-continues-in-jerusalem/">Jerusalem area</a> this weekend. According to <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/capital-weather-gang/wp/2013/12/13/rare-snow-in-cairo-jerusalem-paralyzed-in-historic-snow/">some news articles</a> and hobbyist <a href="http://www.americanwx.com/bb/index.php/topic/41928-jerusalem-israel-winter-weather-2013-2014/">meteorologist forum threads</a>, the snowfall accumulation was about 50cm from Wednesday night December 11th to Saturday mid-day December 14th. For a place that is used to about 2-3 cm of snow total throughout the winter season on a typical year, this storm was quite a shock (it caused problems in Cairo, the Golan Heights, Syria, and Gaza too). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Jerusalem is not properly equipped with snowplows and salt like we are used to in the American northeast - most of the snow-clearing vehicles on the streets are of the bulldozer and army tank variety, and I haven't seen salt being used on the main roads inside the city (I assume the small supplies are being used in clearing the two major highways entering Jerusalem). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My source of (correct) weather throughout the last week has been <a href="http://www.02ws.co.il/station.php?lang=0&tempunit=C">this amazing Jerusalem weather website</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thanks to some techniques (and practice) gained through <a href="http://web.mit.edu/mitoc/www/#events/ws.shtml">MITOC's Winter School</a> (The MIT Outing Club's lecture/trip series in the winter time, filled with tips and techniques for winter hiking and camping), me and my roommates braved the storm and had lots of fun prancing in the storm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before the storm</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The 3 or 4 days before the snow had been filled with cold, wind, and rain. It's not unusual for Jerusalem, just mildly unpleasant when you walk to work. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYERwWeksvjWrgWpRoITLDQuNJg2iwIw5E3tL1lzboNm1Pcp0hoY3IimHyAL9zNx_PCeKshKcSwBKHlSrtQhnhfwN65B85bjiENT7fHOQSedcFPFUvgBhaOyvnZFv7vvvIIiVmQM8alSQ/s1600/IMG_20131205_095639_077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYERwWeksvjWrgWpRoITLDQuNJg2iwIw5E3tL1lzboNm1Pcp0hoY3IimHyAL9zNx_PCeKshKcSwBKHlSrtQhnhfwN65B85bjiENT7fHOQSedcFPFUvgBhaOyvnZFv7vvvIIiVmQM8alSQ/s1600/IMG_20131205_095639_077.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And when the path from your apartment to the street is covered in an inch of standing water. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We kept joking back and forth that it's going to snow and not to snow - but by Wednesday afternoon you could smell that frost smell in the air that every New Englander knows. I had stocked up on rice, granola bars, and chocolate (<i>MITOC lesson #1</i>), but not on purpose - I just like to eat those things. Lo and behold, the snow started.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wednesday / Thursday (Day 1): A Reasonable Storm</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By New England standards, the falling flakes of snow were like a light snow not uncommon in Boston or New York. I just never expected to see it in Jerusalem. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The apartment was slowly getting colder. Remember, buildings in places not used to snow don't have luxuries like central heating. I wore my wool socks (not cotton, in case they got wet, <i>MITOC lesson #2</i>) and slippers, together with a fleece, and was perfectly warm and happy throughout Thursday. To sleep under my three thin blankets, I boiled water before bed and put it in my Nalgene covered with a sock (<i>MITOC lesson #3)</i>. In the absence of a person, there is nothing like hugging a radiating bottle of warmth in bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That day was clearly not a work day, so I slept, ate, read, and was generally lazy most of the day. But every New Englander knows that they have to clean their porch during the day after a snow so it won't freeze and become black ice the next day. No shovels, but squeegees do just fine. Let's ignore for a second the fact that it rarely gets below freezing and the likelihood of black ice accumulating on our steps was close to zero.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I went to go sit in the nice wifi with a coffee at the <a href="http://www.educationalbookshop.com/">Educational Bookshop</a> for an hour before meeting Noemie and Wilem (my roommates, French and Belgian) for a walk. (Of course at the Educational Bookshop I met an international filmmaker who wanted to ask me questions about MEET, but that's a separate story). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With a city not prepared for snow like this, the roads don't have proper drainage from the melting snow. And the temperature outside was hovering right above freezing, so there was no ice accumulation on the streets. But for those experienced with snow this can only mean one thing: the dreaded slush. To combat this (in the absence of waterproof footwear), we put plastic bags around our feet, socks around them, then put our shoes on. Mountaineers have a fancy name for this - a vapor barrier liner. The idea is to trap the heat around your foot so that even if the thing around your foot is wet, you stay warm (<i>MITOC lesson #4</i>). </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHucEilbernHvd_FD6a9DD12v60MMD-hnvBHFPj8WrHLWptPMNI3RR0VvCnCGpSZY-4XqfBX70oknUgOceVbj8EDmTbLG_EgNoSv0bINT-PsmDSwE_uJNb1mUkPAU1GdnYRtsflKV2W3zt/s1600/IMG_20131213_104857_278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHucEilbernHvd_FD6a9DD12v60MMD-hnvBHFPj8WrHLWptPMNI3RR0VvCnCGpSZY-4XqfBX70oknUgOceVbj8EDmTbLG_EgNoSv0bINT-PsmDSwE_uJNb1mUkPAU1GdnYRtsflKV2W3zt/s1600/IMG_20131213_104857_278.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, the rewards of going out in the evening in a snowy city are unbelievable. Hot drinks (<i>MITOC lesson #5</i>) and "it's all about the picture" (<i>MITOC lesson #6</i>). </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CzLwz6OS-mBqeuRA8KpJvNPYRxLR2VUqvobhPMQMxfuQqTJgvV444qbzFldXjW67IUTGMA4UC14XUIVyhbgDHcxeJ8kppuX_2S9vixzvIV2eqClYCHE4NckCrtpC9Tcnt6b9PLhHVXMh/s1600/IMG_20131212_165616_180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CzLwz6OS-mBqeuRA8KpJvNPYRxLR2VUqvobhPMQMxfuQqTJgvV444qbzFldXjW67IUTGMA4UC14XUIVyhbgDHcxeJ8kppuX_2S9vixzvIV2eqClYCHE4NckCrtpC9Tcnt6b9PLhHVXMh/s1600/IMG_20131212_165616_180.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEiP2IALfpVQtL4HubWps_mvqKEW5h8UCPpmarTZOD0o_m6PEf50EwBA9XYdLAcYA1QU6aqEkTlqeKw3acFyAN-Zk7UI2uunDk9h-wn2SYea6_DedamD94Vtzrv7KhC9PjRsbf3wF5x68/s1600/IMG_20131212_162245_580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEiP2IALfpVQtL4HubWps_mvqKEW5h8UCPpmarTZOD0o_m6PEf50EwBA9XYdLAcYA1QU6aqEkTlqeKw3acFyAN-Zk7UI2uunDk9h-wn2SYea6_DedamD94Vtzrv7KhC9PjRsbf3wF5x68/s1600/IMG_20131212_162245_580.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Note the fire coming out of a trash can by the bread seller on the streets of the Old City. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwdlpZ8kUyT38RQxFShgBetqTNZ5k2cLxryMczaxB-qZI0Qarkq6WE7mmF7k0c6CEp0GLPJtuUXwFXtF9t2GUDSSsNvJ8KlQ5f-8ieBxKtl-9MV3USli65pjzrRr2r9aFPrfMutPXSHou/s1600/IMG_20131212_175144_650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwdlpZ8kUyT38RQxFShgBetqTNZ5k2cLxryMczaxB-qZI0Qarkq6WE7mmF7k0c6CEp0GLPJtuUXwFXtF9t2GUDSSsNvJ8KlQ5f-8ieBxKtl-9MV3USli65pjzrRr2r9aFPrfMutPXSHou/s1600/IMG_20131212_175144_650.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the magical palm trees with 2 inches of snow on the ground. Breathtaking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is critical to stay out of the wind to stay warm (<i>MITOC lesson #7</i>), so Noemie, Wilem, Stefano, and I taped the seams of the window frames in the living room with plastic wrap and blankets to block the cold wind from invading the apartment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That night was colder than the last - Noemie and Wilem had two space heaters, so we sat all together in the living room with the space heaters until it was time to go to sleep. This time, it was time for the sleeping bag, chocolate and jumping jacks before bed, hot water bottle, and hat / gloves on standby (<i>MITOC lesson #8</i>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I kept my cell phone and computer under the covers in case our power went out and I needed to preserve battery. Cold doesn't do good things to electronics (<i>MITOC lesson #9</i>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Friday (Day 2): A Bit More...</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Waking up on Friday to even more snow on the ground (and an even colder apartment) had the same feeling as waking up during the American northeast Snowpocalypse of January 2010 - WHAT. I seriously considered making a website called bostonorjerusalem.com. As you can see, I didn't. The wifi (and perhaps the power too) had gone out in my apartment, so I decided to try my luck in finding my usual Friday morning brunch place with wifi. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zW1tPSyLv_cgDMoMT3LKNB2W_wsfkalKdu3ldtaJhWQwjY9yWceBMLD9sTkl7xJkeAtOJ_oHFgoOhk8GEsjDTTonEvgGSxNNq-nNxPM62_vbPmZdMy3EQmphTY_R2dbuE8TPIhoYPs5P/s1600/IMG_20131213_105805_829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zW1tPSyLv_cgDMoMT3LKNB2W_wsfkalKdu3ldtaJhWQwjY9yWceBMLD9sTkl7xJkeAtOJ_oHFgoOhk8GEsjDTTonEvgGSxNNq-nNxPM62_vbPmZdMy3EQmphTY_R2dbuE8TPIhoYPs5P/s1600/IMG_20131213_105805_829.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZCjxhxZf4a4DzsTR443KPBjkUVmdI1NpEal5n_2J1CBBjpshZhTWBc2MQcZyo4At7MwQ9xam8fWTF7rG002R5B1NKxTRxy63nl9K4LoUahro-KXXvHfzmbVSk88s7R6BhrVxlh9qlZ3X/s1600/IMG_20131213_105715_129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZCjxhxZf4a4DzsTR443KPBjkUVmdI1NpEal5n_2J1CBBjpshZhTWBc2MQcZyo4At7MwQ9xam8fWTF7rG002R5B1NKxTRxy63nl9K4LoUahro-KXXvHfzmbVSk88s7R6BhrVxlh9qlZ3X/s1600/IMG_20131213_105715_129.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Damascus Gate was surreal. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaHKehlq2SVKNWKklimRg6I05BwmKHOVzUIPAcdy155xbkzLHKjWhdBZNSTf_pGC7TJ1YkbXPxaj7Q3huaZTyCcaO2zENzLaRIsx9MOvT9FsONeSXTi27STBqYC8sM_46HJckcHn1-ltX/s1600/IMG_20131213_111142_600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaHKehlq2SVKNWKklimRg6I05BwmKHOVzUIPAcdy155xbkzLHKjWhdBZNSTf_pGC7TJ1YkbXPxaj7Q3huaZTyCcaO2zENzLaRIsx9MOvT9FsONeSXTi27STBqYC8sM_46HJckcHn1-ltX/s1600/IMG_20131213_111142_600.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And believe it or not, there was a <a href="http://www.jpost.com/National-News/Snowfall-unites-Jerusalemites-of-diverse-faiths-334904">snowman right next to the Western Wall</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6xB4kMjQX1eam92u8upXCzheKV0fZfg-6VAtJyqxbik65rBA35X3e-FYmejIk-2p_5UAiCDeRTGnI4_UhDOjM386GPISSpUJ6yAGnk16hwiaq_s8mkJlvZRcmoHs72esyPMxCN2tix1c/s1600/IMG_20131213_112605_218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6xB4kMjQX1eam92u8upXCzheKV0fZfg-6VAtJyqxbik65rBA35X3e-FYmejIk-2p_5UAiCDeRTGnI4_UhDOjM386GPISSpUJ6yAGnk16hwiaq_s8mkJlvZRcmoHs72esyPMxCN2tix1c/s1600/IMG_20131213_112605_218.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the street musicians on Jaffa street apparently continue to try and sell their wares. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUS5dpZBOLqIjoAhKAg0rR6Or3b0Z7p6V2PkJmwjBOgJ6T_0xzbVdZoU80A_5Le7ZDAryzU5fYNezNFyPd1uPYg_V8v4FAhcy4dw7YX6aOk-gJsxHObz-91muu96200HNLox3TEf3u5WlN/s1600/IMG_20131213_120154_980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUS5dpZBOLqIjoAhKAg0rR6Or3b0Z7p6V2PkJmwjBOgJ6T_0xzbVdZoU80A_5Le7ZDAryzU5fYNezNFyPd1uPYg_V8v4FAhcy4dw7YX6aOk-gJsxHObz-91muu96200HNLox3TEf3u5WlN/s1600/IMG_20131213_120154_980.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By far the most creative snowman I saw in the city - on Jaffa street. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6AqolA6f9T7OzC0LEPEzqKo7qec64iEh-7pTvN5Y7T9VLWgBXPzHhuJ3gKo0wB7L0e5iIwqr2sOtjqIuKr26dGiAYdbVtprQJjDm8LTDizo_HmMlSBLiBDpDvsLN5IDX45atjpIwv4H9/s1600/IMG_20131213_120223_048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6AqolA6f9T7OzC0LEPEzqKo7qec64iEh-7pTvN5Y7T9VLWgBXPzHhuJ3gKo0wB7L0e5iIwqr2sOtjqIuKr26dGiAYdbVtprQJjDm8LTDizo_HmMlSBLiBDpDvsLN5IDX45atjpIwv4H9/s1600/IMG_20131213_120223_048.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> As it turned out, I didn't have much luck in finding power or wifi until I walked around the entire city to the touristy Jaffa street. I ended up having brunch at <a href="http://www.tmol-shilshom.co.il/en/home/default.aspx">Tmol Shilshom</a>, the famous bookshop near Jaffa street. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After sitting in the cafe for a few hours and the snow again starting outside, I decided to make my way back home.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBesPd_zF1uo0xq9Nx-XKVTrTHAvVMKFiYT84XZxuoop5rCEXynYDOzxLvCjxiKZwYkIVUTlPSaWNatTtOP0UGS-pSrqysqrdEu3j1q1Ke3Rhyphenhyphen0WX9V3kJqkJ71i45Ep37g7Vu-YCp-AU/s1600/IMG_20131213_163350_936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBesPd_zF1uo0xq9Nx-XKVTrTHAvVMKFiYT84XZxuoop5rCEXynYDOzxLvCjxiKZwYkIVUTlPSaWNatTtOP0UGS-pSrqysqrdEu3j1q1Ke3Rhyphenhyphen0WX9V3kJqkJ71i45Ep37g7Vu-YCp-AU/s1600/IMG_20131213_163350_936.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There was still the one dedicated fruit seller near Salahuddin Street / Damascus Gate. I was tempted, so I bought some tomatoes. It was getting tiring to eat just rice and sausages for all your meals ...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdDoUxMNEtkrmTMTpffZ2LLs-85zc4bb_3eYrka_aSxGuneyGYJO9MI1CWU4b11bZf4qPIU72tAFOb4z8fwMYrQ5Zydz73vkegvAToJ_dpLCeUNRsmGzGgQ9g33DMBELfEmaQqcrXq2GT/s1600/IMG_20131213_163835_409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdDoUxMNEtkrmTMTpffZ2LLs-85zc4bb_3eYrka_aSxGuneyGYJO9MI1CWU4b11bZf4qPIU72tAFOb4z8fwMYrQ5Zydz73vkegvAToJ_dpLCeUNRsmGzGgQ9g33DMBELfEmaQqcrXq2GT/s1600/IMG_20131213_163835_409.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At this point home was getting inevitably colder. I wish I had a camping stove so I could continuously boil water. Putting on a hat inside made it infinitely warmer (<i>MITOC lesson #10</i>). Noemie's approach was the burrito wrap (<i>MITOC lesson #11</i>). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ux7r1h72NYL_PlyWW9-ZUU-S2GwQ0yd-pvx-VzjE60cfkSMkV0xkwlHE_dHLwFl_q3V6AWvyd7pG4zVBQ5w-EZQn5ijyPwKoxjEACEmcey-nBiOtv6MNyqpwKNkLn8-aOccsEcbhG2cD/s1600/IMG_20131213_200133_040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ux7r1h72NYL_PlyWW9-ZUU-S2GwQ0yd-pvx-VzjE60cfkSMkV0xkwlHE_dHLwFl_q3V6AWvyd7pG4zVBQ5w-EZQn5ijyPwKoxjEACEmcey-nBiOtv6MNyqpwKNkLn8-aOccsEcbhG2cD/s1600/IMG_20131213_200133_040.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The wall of heaters in the living room threatened to throw the circuit breaker every time we made a pot of tea. Every time it did, I'd have my headlamp in my pocket so I could find the breaker switch to flip it, and make sure you have spare batteries (<i>MITOC lesson #12</i>). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoipzAIzU0-__TWsej1W8jIVQlreKiMK0UkHeLnR_dVpJXv-H31uJ2LCiUOM4z55Twi3czy-fBlakUN51VQOW2h0Z11UuCTTGxXRbmE-k_gl8x16XeOkVLAQbJg2lTRgsF-yvsDugPCMRS/s1600/IMG_20131213_213043_251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoipzAIzU0-__TWsej1W8jIVQlreKiMK0UkHeLnR_dVpJXv-H31uJ2LCiUOM4z55Twi3czy-fBlakUN51VQOW2h0Z11UuCTTGxXRbmE-k_gl8x16XeOkVLAQbJg2lTRgsF-yvsDugPCMRS/s1600/IMG_20131213_213043_251.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the snowmelt kept dripping into the apartment through the leaks. The landlord basically said this was the worst snow in decades and that he'd fix it when the snow stopped. In temporary consolation he gave us a third space heater. As long as we kept ourselves dry, we'd be warm (<i>MITOC lesson #13</i>). This meant there was a constant changing of socks, pants, and shoes every time anyone went outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Saturday (Day 3): A Real "<a href="http://www.haaretz.com/blogs/jerusalem-vivendi/1.563208">Sheleggedon</a>"</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By Saturday, Day 3 when the snow continued (the roads had been closed for two days now, basically no travel in or out of Jerusalem), the Old City was absolutely gorgeous. People were playing in the streets, snowmen and snowangels abound, and all the shops around were closed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The trick to staying warm outside: scarf, hat, gloves. And layers! (<i>MITOC lesson #14</i>). </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JdfWFft_yOAn6SOfZa1mpY_mf0L8NsGWdkKUh-bq7x8y-xa0EnZ6FKeM_r3J87CKgcLcNYRxe0jRuYDOe4tVMkaI-wOycA9g5JcEhDBKzKWfwNoJVp5zgu7kWFNWE2bxGTTxuyEaYpHI/s1600/IMG_20131214_113209_874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JdfWFft_yOAn6SOfZa1mpY_mf0L8NsGWdkKUh-bq7x8y-xa0EnZ6FKeM_r3J87CKgcLcNYRxe0jRuYDOe4tVMkaI-wOycA9g5JcEhDBKzKWfwNoJVp5zgu7kWFNWE2bxGTTxuyEaYpHI/s1600/IMG_20131214_113209_874.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeebZZznYjmZnGVZyl7xaFc_IvViflv01Ri757DwAniY1H-0pPPMvIuRIxgsll98afVcA3fS-S3eo6I-uhkytu9cItmuEklzt6Gi-GYja1RuRVVc8_VBN1JfupH-4VWIS2e3tm38bSYUr/s1600/IMG_20131214_112813_362.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeebZZznYjmZnGVZyl7xaFc_IvViflv01Ri757DwAniY1H-0pPPMvIuRIxgsll98afVcA3fS-S3eo6I-uhkytu9cItmuEklzt6Gi-GYja1RuRVVc8_VBN1JfupH-4VWIS2e3tm38bSYUr/s1600/IMG_20131214_112813_362.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjex83uhWH6LDJaajkwhxRltJv7Mxe2koq7a0TF2OmoSVM14sGjL7o2uFZm5qm3ZJXssS1wV3qlqpLnH5FXVYSiNW3u5gF4fCv2-z3HYWmC7BjAcNvCh5tMU2hKSAT9qL9mLjHPUPxL-It5/s1600/IMG_20131214_101611_924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjex83uhWH6LDJaajkwhxRltJv7Mxe2koq7a0TF2OmoSVM14sGjL7o2uFZm5qm3ZJXssS1wV3qlqpLnH5FXVYSiNW3u5gF4fCv2-z3HYWmC7BjAcNvCh5tMU2hKSAT9qL9mLjHPUPxL-It5/s1600/IMG_20131214_101611_924.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now that the storm is over, the temperature is getting warmer, and there is no need to worry about freezing. There never really was (the temperatures barely got below freezing), but all the same I am glad I had my Winter School skills to back me up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our main concern right now is that our water tank on the roof might be to cold to supply enough water. In fact, the houses in our neighborhood have a water shortage because of burst pipes in the region. Good thing I stocked up on water from my previous hiking adventures to definitely have enough for a few days (<i>MITOC lesson #15</i>). </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3WxdHktAdn2aecgzyWWl3IeoYmjzm6tVLF3Jm-IWqao0FzbNhzUJ4HBL4rT-9htWaE1hgiXdRcEhIeFLzTy2lVxrq1-8imuejxWE6vggnL9ZU4ZgAwPsg3OC98oER93yVZ-YU459fT8G/s1600/2013-12-14+21.31.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3WxdHktAdn2aecgzyWWl3IeoYmjzm6tVLF3Jm-IWqao0FzbNhzUJ4HBL4rT-9htWaE1hgiXdRcEhIeFLzTy2lVxrq1-8imuejxWE6vggnL9ZU4ZgAwPsg3OC98oER93yVZ-YU459fT8G/s1600/2013-12-14+21.31.56.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next challenge is to take a shower out of the water bottles heated in front of the space heater, but this is a challenge easily solved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A Recap: Winter School Lessons for Real Life Snowstorms and Cold Weather</span></h3>
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<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Stock up on carb-filled and fatty foods. They give you energy and alleviate the need to go find a shop to sell you food during a storm. Chocolate is great for a quick burst. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wear thick wool socks and slippers to keep your feet warm.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sleep with a Nalgene filled with warm water wrapped in a sock. In the absence of a Nalgene, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/10x7-RUBBER-WATER-BOTTLE-Colors/dp/B0013MTHUS">rubber hot water bottles</a> are great. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Make your non-waterproof shoes waterproof with makeshift vapor barrier liners made of plastic grocery bags. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Drink warm liquids. Tea and hot chocolate are great. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whatever your situation, make sure to take epic pictures. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wind-seal leaky window frames with plastic wrap, tape, blankets, sheets, whatever.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do jumping jacks before bed. Eat a bar of chocolate before bed. Keep a hat and gloves near you in case you get cold at night. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sleep with your computer and your cell phone (unplugged) under your covers to conserve battery.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wear a hat inside. "If your toes are cold, put on a hat", said someone famous. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No hat? Burrito wrap yourself in a blanket!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Keep a headlamp nearby in case the power goes out. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Make sure you have spare batteries for said headlamp.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Keep yourself dry. Change wet socks immediately, especially if they are cotton. Better to dry your clothes while they are off of you.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Layer up. It makes you flexible and traps air between your layers of clothing, adding to the insulation.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Stock up on water just in case.</span></li>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Jerusalem, Israel31.768319 35.21370999999999231.552388 34.89098649999999 31.984250000000003 35.536433499999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-54068804841692515992013-09-22T13:04:00.000-04:002013-11-29T13:10:41.808-05:00Jerusalem for one year, September 2013 to September 2014<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In one of the most crazy decisions of my life so far, I decided I would move to Jerusalem for a year. One year. Starting in September 2013. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Context</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I just graduated MIT and am mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted from working for four years towards my EECS degree. I want to go back for my MEng (Master's in Engineering) but I don't yet have the energy. What I needed is something different. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.mprat.org/projects/meet/">I was a summer instructor for MEET</a> this summer and had no plans beyond MEET, my trip to Italy with Robin, and the Camino. Well, truth be told, my original plan was to go back to the US for a while, bum around with Maddie in California on the John Muir Trail, then go back to New York / Boston, get a few jobs, and learn more about the industry track I seemed to have been pursuing my entire career thus far. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After the MEET summer news that I had no plans for one year spread through the grapevine to Talya, the MEET program manager, who offered me the chance for an opportunity of a lifetime: life in Jerusalem for one year, working for MEET full-time. Teaching, curriculum development, culture shock, and all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Plan</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Needless to say I was horribly confused. Do I run away from my home for a year just to do something different? Do I pursue this passion for education and technology so far from home? Do I leave Robin, boyfriend of two years, for an entire year? Do I leave the tech world for a year? Do I go live in a country where I don't know <i>either</i> of the languages? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After countless debates and arguments with myself, Robin, and my parents (hi mom!) I decided to take the risk. I decided that living in Jerusalem was indeed the experience of a lifetime. I would never get this chance again, and I would enjoy it to the fullest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I would live for a year in Jerusalem, then come back to Boston to finish my MEng starting in September 2014. And here I am. </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4TeGdiTg2_U/UnUugAv9QBI/AAAAAAAAG5I/TAPGbNpEcR8/s1600/IMG_20131007_175752_899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4TeGdiTg2_U/UnUugAv9QBI/AAAAAAAAG5I/TAPGbNpEcR8/s320/IMG_20131007_175752_899.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Jerusalem, Israel31.768319 35.21370999999999231.552388 34.89098649999999 31.984250000000003 35.536433499999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-21178855846635478492013-08-19T15:24:00.000-04:002013-10-29T17:58:51.994-04:00Why are you closed on MONDAY of all days? To Cornellana, then.<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Leaving Escamplero</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were as usual the last ones to leave the <i>albergue</i> at the shockingly late hour of 8am (for some reason these <i>peregrinos</i> were more fanatical about starting early than the ones on the Camino del Norte...). Because there was no <i>hospitaliero</i> (host) at the albergue, the last to leave had to go give the key back to the restaurant down the street. I returned the key and walked on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The difference with this Camino was that everything was more gray in the mornings - there was mist everywhere, it was more cloudy, and in general it was a bit cooler. Not to say that it wasn't gorgeous, of course. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkoSEqJIdfTsqT8BpeFqJmemVAavu8xY3uT9JzBeJ7_bHvUX5c3Y_Y0EkP6r9NomjpGE5jGKrJSq_A50pLDScv4mml2srxHq3jHTD9rHbA4gRGFLBZnjdIEl8hnyKqW_5HdXP_oNw8wVy/s1600/2013-08-19+13.33.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkoSEqJIdfTsqT8BpeFqJmemVAavu8xY3uT9JzBeJ7_bHvUX5c3Y_Y0EkP6r9NomjpGE5jGKrJSq_A50pLDScv4mml2srxHq3jHTD9rHbA4gRGFLBZnjdIEl8hnyKqW_5HdXP_oNw8wVy/s320/2013-08-19+13.33.12.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In our never-ending quest to find happiness with the three different walking paces of Leah, Kayla, and I, it became by job to buy lunch food in the next town (which happened to be Grado).</span></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Grado</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">... is mixed up with their days. Well, not really. But Grado is famous in Asturias for it's market, but it's market is open on Sundays. And since every people need a day of rest, if you work on Sunday then your day off is on Monday. Guess what day we ended up going through Grado? Yep, Monday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I got to Grado around 11am and went straight for the center of town for some lunch (I was completely out of food) and wifi. The wifi didn't work so I just ended up eating a small <i>bocadillo</i> (sandwich) and <i>café con leche</i> (coffee with milk) and reading some of my book before hunting for a supermarket in the closed town. Of course I had a really hard time finding anything, so all I bought was canned peaches, real peaches, and a box of cereal bars. There was absolutely no cheap cheese or baguette or anything of that kind, so we were going to have to rely on our sardine and tuna stores today for lunch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After Grado the path was straight uphill - we were not stopping at San Juan de Villapeñada, which was halfway up the steep hill, but our goal was to make it to Cornellana. Part of the way up, I struggle-hiked next to a French man named Bernard who did not speak very good English. It was talking to him that I realized I don't know French - between words in English, Spanish, and French, we basically figured out that we were both computer people and that we were both walking with people who were a bit slower than we were. But beyond that, the communication was minimal. He walked on to San Juan de Villapeñada while I stopped to wait for Leah and Kayla at the top of the steep uphill.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrjqIPI1Vs2nDY7MjNNaMubEg6oKp960C6bY061sKXBFKTNbGd0GJaEGJEMtDraWrO3VcUlReOYq08Mjx7Tps0UReS5djsQ_4mezfiOMp4MHXuDSXs81cUvbLaTYN6Tq9mlxWLpOdhZw6/s1600/2013-08-19+13.50.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrjqIPI1Vs2nDY7MjNNaMubEg6oKp960C6bY061sKXBFKTNbGd0GJaEGJEMtDraWrO3VcUlReOYq08Mjx7Tps0UReS5djsQ_4mezfiOMp4MHXuDSXs81cUvbLaTYN6Tq9mlxWLpOdhZw6/s320/2013-08-19+13.50.55.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Cornellana</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We got to Cornellana around 6pm. The <i>albergue </i>was in a corner of a hard-to-find abandoned monastery, but eventually we found our way there. There was a washer and dryer, and all of our friends from the night before. While our clothes were washing, I walked into the town and bought a ton of pasta, vegetables, and pasta fixings. We were so hungry that the three of us ate all the food that I had bought - and went through a bottle of <i>cidra</i>. I also bought milk and chocolate cereal to test our 30km+ hypothesis...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next morning we split from our new-found friends again (we get up around 7:30am, already later than when many of the other <i>peregrinos</i> start walking) and aimed for a 30km day to Tineo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Reflection time</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At this point it is getting easier to deal with hiking at different paces - we've figured out a system where we split up earlier on in the hike and only regroup at maximum 2 points during the day, for meals. We have started carrying our own shares of food, and getting to the <i>albergue</i> earlier is OK. It is nice to have people with you sometimes, and it is nice to be alone sometimes. Overall, friends are worth the small annoyances that come with them. It is already 14 days into the Camino, and I don't see a change in my attitude. I was hoping the Camino would make me more forgiving, more patient, more relaxed than I was before. But two weeks in I am still hoping there will be a magic change....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I do sometimes walk and hear small snippets of poetic phrases pop into my head; it would be nice to see if anyone had written a book of Camino poems that talk about sore feet, nice views, sounds, smells, tastes, the constant yellow arrows, and the whole concept of "what is the Way". I haven't heard about any, but many <i>peregrinos</i> cite <a href="http://www.cavafy.com/poems/content.asp?cat=1&id=74">Ithaka </a>as a poem that reminds of the sights and sounds and feelings of the Camino.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tomorrow I want to go 30+km - I did buy milk and chocolate cereal for a reason. We've had two easier days of hiking (in terms of distance), and I am excited to get 10km straight uphill before our push to Tineo!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-65528309325287970222013-08-18T13:04:00.000-04:002013-10-26T15:22:44.345-04:00Primitivo Day 1: Asturias and Escamplero<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The start in Oviedo</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today was our first day on the Camino Primitivo - not only was Leah coming off of two days rest, but it also made sense for us to start this new thing slowly and only go about 12km today. The goal was to end up in El Escamplero, the first <i>albergue</i> our book provided along the Primitivo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Taking advantage of the fact that we didn't get kicked out of an <i>albergue</i> at 7am, we slept until 10. Then we just went downstairs to our El Tayuelu tavern and got <i>tortilla española</i> (omlette with potatoes), complete with a side dose of our favorite wifi. Leah decided to finally throw out the bag of frozen peas she had been using to ice her leg so we won't have to carry it, and we decided to try to find groceries for our lunch. The problem was that we had yet again found ourselves in a major city on a Sunday. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunday is a holy day in Catholic Spain, so everything is closed on Sundays. It took us a long while to find a place that would sell us some groceries, but we ended up buying bread, tuna, and beans for our lunch. We found a bakery to buy sweet pastries for our midday snack - no one can resist the delicious. It also magically happened that I dropped my Spanish cell phone, rendering it completely incapable of making calls. Since at this point Kayla <i>still</i> did not have a cell phone, we only had Leah's phone between us. We hoped this would be enough...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After all the morning adventure, we only managed to leave Oviedo at 1pm. Given that we had no idea where the Camino was through Oviedo, we were lucky to run into two women (who we would later meet as Susana and the Norwegian woman) who pointed us in the right direction. On the way out of town I saw an internet cafe and sat there for about half an hour while Leah and Kayla went ahead (we figured this would be ok, since I walked faster than they did anyway). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking through Asturias</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Asturias is different. For one, we are no longer walking by the sea. To give you an idea, here is a map:</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GEAOVyuqV1Q/UmwEEU48NKI/AAAAAAAAGr8/wSyZOWG_-QQ/s1600/camino_map_full.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="106" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GEAOVyuqV1Q/UmwEEU48NKI/AAAAAAAAGr8/wSyZOWG_-QQ/s400/camino_map_full.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The red is the Camino del Norte (the Northern Way), and the green is the Camino Primitivo (the Primitive Way). While the northern route we had been talking so far had been close to the coast, the primitive way was more inland. This means the climate was different (for one, there was less breeze, and it was hotter during the day), but it also meant that we were at higher elevation more in the mountains, and it was colder at night. It also meant the sounds of the ocean were too far to be heard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sensory information was replaced: the low rumble of ocean waves was replaced by the clamor of cowbells. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XnAcatzFnPFD86gD-H2Ek9esvO2ALotICDtnn7ci_njE4i1sA_5UOogLnsjomITbF2ARg1YgyUD6BvwTxJLjrd117bw7hZCtSGFAWY81tI6xwANzjDI94DC-ectsYN-Jrx6wp3TmriHt/s1600/2013-08-16+14.30.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XnAcatzFnPFD86gD-H2Ek9esvO2ALotICDtnn7ci_njE4i1sA_5UOogLnsjomITbF2ARg1YgyUD6BvwTxJLjrd117bw7hZCtSGFAWY81tI6xwANzjDI94DC-ectsYN-Jrx6wp3TmriHt/s320/2013-08-16+14.30.34.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The salt small is replaced by a faint smell of cow dung, and the insects seem 1000 times louder. Of course, there are still blackberries lining the sides of the trail, but fewer than before. The mountains (I assume they are the Picos de Europa) are never far from your sight, looming behind you as you walk. It is true that there are fewer people, fewer villages. Finally, we have found the real hiking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The villages themselves are more quaint. Every house or complex seems to have a <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%B3rreo">hórreo</a></i> - a type of granary used to store and dry corn and other food. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And of course, the views of the countryside are always stunning.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJH6AsacN_07Kf4zNQRI9roWpTXXG6HAbGrrFYm-BZkt-HCBCaf5Nnxy2KS6OOKTpRaoq8j9II0CgaLXOqzaCRAWwJDVDFYvLTdnvt1f5q9ErbtaJoU4Ay81GU9wAi3p96fap-ux8Of1J/s1600/2013-08-19+13.33.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJH6AsacN_07Kf4zNQRI9roWpTXXG6HAbGrrFYm-BZkt-HCBCaf5Nnxy2KS6OOKTpRaoq8j9II0CgaLXOqzaCRAWwJDVDFYvLTdnvt1f5q9ErbtaJoU4Ay81GU9wAi3p96fap-ux8Of1J/s320/2013-08-19+13.33.12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">El Escamplero</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We had been warned to not expect as much direct hospitality at the <i>albergues</i> on the Primitivo, and the first <i>albergue</i> on the Primitivo was no different. There was no <i>hospitaliero</i> - you had to go to the one restaurant in the town of Escamplero to check in to the <i>albergue</i> (the first one has to get the key from there too). I got there at 4, so I had plenty of time to relax. When Leah and Kayla got to the <i>albergue</i> in the evening, we and all the other <i>peregrinos</i> staying at the <i>albergue</i> went out to eat dinner at the one restaurant in town. Complete of course with cider sangría - darn good if you ask me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were quite the motley crew: our new Polish friend Susanna, a Polish man in his 30s, a Norwegian woman in her 30s who had done the Camino Francés the year before, a young German guy from Dortmund, a French man in his 30s, and us three silly Americans. We had a great dinner, for the first time with a large group of other <i>peregrinos</i> (aside from my adventure in Güemes). It seemed like the start of a family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Back at the <i>albergue</i> the Norwegian woman was trying to lighten her load, so Kayla acquired a set of plastic camping bowls and I acquired some more basic first aid supplies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Looking ahead</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The promise of a washing machine tomorrow sounded like a better promised land than anything we had ever had before - I was flat out of clean underwear for more than 3 days at this point, and my pants had not been washed the entire trip. I was ready to get back to walking a lot and washing out the salt stains from the knees of my pants. Today was 12km and I was hungry for more!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com033191 L'Escampreru, Asturias, Spain43.3874969 -5.951040700000021443.3874969 -5.9510407000000214 43.3874969 -5.9510407000000214tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-38296898342594721142013-08-17T10:21:00.000-04:002013-10-26T13:07:26.995-04:00The Promised Land #2: Santander, #3: Oviedo, the Primitivo Decision Point<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Leaving Güemes</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That morning I didn't rush to get up - I read before I went to bed and still got a quiet and calm sleep, waking up naturally before my alarm at 7am. Breakfast was again communal, with tea, coffee, Cola-Cao, biscuits, and jam. The usual Spanish breakfast. I ate, chatted with some more new people, and left. I shook Ernesto's hand and thanked him for his hospitality. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking down the hill from the <i>albergue</i> I was recognized by a family who had heard me translate the <i>hermita</i> discussion. I walked faster than them, but I stayed with them until the split-off between the three options to Santander. We all decided that we would take the scenic route, which didn't <i>exactly</i> follow the Camino, but hugged the coast and eventually ended up where you needed to go. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We knew that there was a ferry from the village of Somo to Santander, so our objective was just to walk along the coast until we got to Somo, then take the ferry. Alba (the daughter of the family that I met) and I walked faster than her parents, so after making the requisite conversation with them we split off and walked the 15km along the coast to Somo. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking up and down the sand dunes is just like walking through the snow without snowshoes - I was post-holing through the sand, and when we got back to the road I had to spend a few minutes emptying my socks and shoes of sand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All throughout the 15km, Alba and I communicated in Spanish - we talked about our education, what we were doing now, and exchanged stories and stereotypes of Spaniards and Americans. We got to the boat dock in Somo after not really having followed the Camino, but all the time we were walking we saw both the dock and Santander, so we knew we were on the right track. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At 11am, I left Alba to wait for her parents at the dock, and paid the 3 euros for the river crossing to Santander. I ran into none other than the German woman I was talking to the night before, so we sat with each other at the back of the boat admiring the view. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"the shoes and water incident"</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(One of the sad disclaimers in all of this is that I don't know this German woman's name. If she told it to me, that information is lost in the sands of time. If not, we never talked while needing to know each other's names, so it never seemed relevant. Lastly, the chances of our seeing each other again in life is not zero, but negligible, so I did not make an effort to get her contact information or email or name, because I knew that if we were destined to see each other again, it would happen. So this embarrassing story about her will never be tainted with her name.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She had already changed into her sandals and strapped her shoes to her pack, so her feet could get some rest. This day was her last on the Camino, as she was taking a bus back to San Sebastián the next day and flying back to Germany. When we were approaching the dock in Santander, she grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder. A few seconds later, we both turned around to look back at the water after hearing a large SPLASH sound. She gave a cry of surprise at seeing her hiking boots (Asolo approach shoes, no less), floating away in the water. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thankfully, the boat was basically docked and the shoes were no more than 20 meters from the dock shore. So of course, she wanted to go in and save her shoes. We ran off the ferry and she handed me her pack. I sat and watched as she quickly took off her sandals, shirt, shoes, and glasses, and jumped in after her shoes. She was very athletic: a climber, hiker, and biker. So presumably she was a good swimmer as well - it took her no more than a few powerful strokes to get to her shoes. Even though she couldn't see, she skillfully dodged both the fishing line off the side of the pier and the stares and points of the people along the pier. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She got out triumphantly holding her shoes, carefully put on a second pair of dry clothes, and we walked into the center of town. We parted ways as she went to the municipal <i>albergue</i> in Santander while I went to search for Leah and Kayla. I tried to take some pictures of Santander, but my camera phone was not working, so I only ended up with one artsy picture of Santander. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Santander</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I found the girls in an internet cafe (cheap! 2 euros an hour) inside the bus station in Santander. We wandered around to find menu del día for lunch as usual. We were on our way back to the bus station to find the schedules to Oviedo, but we ran into German girl and Romanian girl in a square in Santander, ended up chatting for a few hours and grabbing a beer. We didn't see any of Santander, nor did I want to. I (as always) wanted to keep going, since I didn't need a rest day. Leah's feet were feeling better from a two-day rest, and Kayla had gotten the chance to sleep off her death march the day before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How Kayla got to Santander</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When we were sharing stories of our experiences the day before (I of Güemes, Leah of Santander), Kayla shared her story for how she ended up in Santander: in short, she got to Bareyo exhausted, decided to press on, and ended up being driven the last 10km or so along the highway to Somo. She met up with Leah around 7pm in Santander, and they spent a relaxing evening doing laundry and relaxing in Santander while I was having a good time in Güemes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Where to go from Santander: continue or change trails?</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The day we were in Santander was August the 17th - 12 days into our official walking, and around 14 days from when I had to leave Santiago de Compostela. At the moment, it had taken us 12 days to walk about 275 kms, and along the Camino del Norte route we had another 500 km to go. If we wanted to get a feel for a different kind of trail (more mountainous, more up and down, less road), we had the option of splitting off to the Camino Primitivo at Oviedo, and at the same time covering some lost ground and making closer progress to Santiago. We could not reasonably make it another 500km in only a few more days of time than we had already walked, so we wanted to bus through from Santander to Oviedo (about 200km), and set a target of 300km from Oviedo to Santiago de Compostela in the next 15 days or so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ultimately we decided that we wanted a slightly varied experience on the Camino - we had already done 12 days of the Camino del Norte and wanted to see some real mountains on the Primitivo. So our decision was to just bus to Oviedo and start on the Primitivo the next day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Santander to Oviedo</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We only made it to the bus station (and got on the bus) at 5:50pm, scheduled to arrive in Oviedo at around 8pm. We made it to the bus stop just in the nick of time, so I was sent on a quick 3-second grocery store run to get Nestea and cookies for the bus ride. Turns out we didn't actually need it, since the bus ride was basically like a short plane flight - it came with an attendant, wifi, infinite drinks, and some snacks. (For future reference, this 2-hour luxury bus ride with the SUPRA company cost us 25 euros each). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In Oviedo... at least 4 mistakes</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oviedo where we were headed was the capital of the Spanish province of Asturias, best-known for it's cider. We clearly couldn't start hiking that late at night, so we were going to spend the night at the <i>albergue</i> (camp outside, if nothing else) and then start the next morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Asking at the bus information center is where mistake #2 happened: asking for the <i>albergue </i>and not asking for a map - we got a bus stop instead. This was mistake #2 (mistake #1 was not looking this information up either on the wifi-enabled bus or at the internet cafe in Santander). Mistake #3: getting off the bus too early. Mistake #4: on Leah's 3G-and-Google-maps-enabled device, clicking the address for the "albergue juvenil" rather than the "albergue." (Remember my post about the<a href="http://mpratravel.blogspot.com/2012/07/a-million-ways-to-say-hotel.html"> meanings of different Spanish accommodations</a> more than a year before...). This meant that this was a "youth hostel" rather than an official <i>albergue</i> for the Camino. This particular <i>albergue juvenil </i>happened to be not only way out on the outskirts of town (which to us was not surprising, given that the <i>albergue</i> was either on the outskirts of town or in the center next to the church), but also happened to be part of the international hostel association. This meant bad news for us, since we could not stay there without this international hostel card that we did not have. And we couldn't even buy said hostel card directly at the hostel. (Later when Leah and I were discussing this business model we came to the conclusion that it was basically the dumbest business model ever...)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So here we were, 9pm, on the outskirts of town, not knowing where the <i>albergue</i> was, not having any public transportation options, and not having any food or knowledge of where the Camino was. We didn't even know whether the yellow arrow blazes were as prominent here, or whether they changed into something completely different. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were lucky that the man at the <i>albergue juvenil</i> took pity on us (and the fact that I spoke good Spanish helped immensely - he was not that comfortable with English), giving us a map and a list of <i>pensiones </i>to try. We called the closest one and asked how much it would be for three people to stay in a 2-person room (we did after all have all of our camping gear, so we would be totally OK sleeping on the floor. As already established before, a roof is the most important feature). Often we would be forced to stay in a 3-person room (which was of course more expensive), but finally one pensión agreed to let us stay. We walked there (yet another 30 minutes in our exhaustion) and negotiated the price down to 30 euros for the night. Kayla ended up sleeping on the floor, but it was Leah's or my turn next). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">El Tayuelu, and cider</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The pensión was called <a href="http://www.eltayuelu.es/el-restaurante-y-la-sidreria_46813.html">El Tayuelu</a>, and it was also connected to a Sidrería (like a tavern, but specializing in cider, which is called <i>sidra</i> in Spanish). We got dinner there (tapas, specifically <i>chipirones</i>, which are fried whole squids) and extravagantly-poured cider. The cider tradition is that it needs to aerate before it can be drunk (so it is sweeter), so the waiters take a bottle way over their heads in outstretched arm and pour the cider into a cup held in the other hand as low as possible. There's a great show, a great splash, and a great hurry as the buyers of the cider try to drink it as fast as possible. Delicious and alcoholic and sweet. We went to bed late, enjoying our opportunity to sleep in, before starting off on our first short leg of the Primitivo the next day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thus ended Day 12. For me, Güemes -> Santander -> Oviedo. The end of the Camino del Norte route, the start point of the Camino Primitivo.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Santander, Cantabria, Spain43.462305699999987 -3.809980300000006543.462305699999987 -3.8099803000000065 43.462305699999987 -3.8099803000000065tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-66656654647293521452013-08-16T16:30:00.000-04:002013-10-26T13:03:54.045-04:00The most unique albergue on the Norte: Güemes<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">tl;dr - stop at the <i>albergue</i> in Güemes, on purpose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hasta la vista (in Santander), baby</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">
We spent the night in the 25-person room at the <i>albergue</i>, and I woke up still exhausted. (It didn't help that I had tossed and turned all night from having a headache and runny nose, needing to take a roll of toiler paper from the <i>albergue</i> to use that day). But I felt invigorated from taking two half-days at the beach and not walking a lot (by that I mean sub-20km) for two days. We had 28 or so kilometers to go until Güemes, and another 20 or so (turns out it was less than that) to go to Santander. We had never pulled a 40+ day, and despite Leah's feet being destroyed, and despite my head feeling like it was the size of a watermelon, I felt up for the task. I knew that pushing forward would clear my head of all it's clutter.</span><br />
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Leah's feet were screwed. Like, completely screwed. If it hurts more to walk in flip flops than in hiking boots, you know your feet deserve a break. We decided that Kayla and I were going to keep walking and Leah would take a bus to Santander. She needed a day-or-two break anyway, and Kayla and I wanted to keep walking.</span><br />
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We had breakfast at the <i>albergue</i>, an early one, left Leah to find a bus from town, and headed off, either planning on meeting in Santander either that night or the next night. Kayla and I gave Leah our map of the town (that also showed where the Camino was out of town) and headed out. We had a really hard time finding the path, but a number of helpful locals pointed us the way. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
We eventually found our way out of Santoña along the beach and had to scramble up and down a cliff that connected the beaches of Santoña and Noja. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
Note the arrows - they are everywhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
The beach stretched for miles - we walked at least 3km along the beach or the path next to it. It is hard to walk on the sand, weighed down by your pack. Especially when your shoes are mesh and sand gets into them all the time. The beaches are amazing - whether they are completely empty except for a single couple enjoying the good weather, rocks jutting out along the sand, or a lone young runner along the waves. It is an amazing feeling, standing alone along the shore at peace with the waves and the salt and the sand, seeing only a few people in the distance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
We passed a camping-<i>albergue</i>, a small supermarket in Helgueras (where we were adventurous and bought a can of canned octapus (<i>pulpo</i>) to supplement our otherwise strict regimen of tuna, sardines, baguette, and tomatoes. We walked into Noja (another 3km from Helgueras) to get food for dinner, each carrying enough for ourselves. We figured Leah would be fine, since she was going to Santander. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The route</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our book map looked like this: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWM-d7wxo0NA08HX-sgDkn_cvBlqAx_oJjN18TOaPWDhWZf_fObtEQnNgOLisPhOYY8-fref15TnbgVBZ_-qFPqYBbCuOI-bQI6QVBEYcuMIX9-U6M5PG_AoZ4IZ31OuYTnHGleF5cJ9-L/s1600/santona_guemes_map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWM-d7wxo0NA08HX-sgDkn_cvBlqAx_oJjN18TOaPWDhWZf_fObtEQnNgOLisPhOYY8-fref15TnbgVBZ_-qFPqYBbCuOI-bQI6QVBEYcuMIX9-U6M5PG_AoZ4IZ31OuYTnHGleF5cJ9-L/s320/santona_guemes_map.png" width="160" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
so we thought the signs would be hard to follow. Turns out, they were easy, and took us through San Miguel de Meruelo and eventually to Bareyo. We did not pass through Castillo but did pass through Noja. So basically, it was really unclear where exactly we went, but we got to Bareyo eventually. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
Kayla and I split up almost immediately after Noja - I continued to Bareyo until about 3pm when the temping sign of "café, wifi" caught my eye. I had been walking along the road for a while so I was almost tempted. But I thought Güemes can't be that far, so I just paused for a quick granola and water break and pushed on. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Güemes</span></h2>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I got to Güemes, expecting a slightly-larger-than-the-usual-10-house-town, but was greeted by none other than my favorite café-church combination. I did not see a sign for an <i>albergue</i> until I got to the edge of town, so I stopped to ask for directions. My pamphlet said 1km off the path was the <i>albergue</i>, so I eventually saw the sign (and many interesting Camino-shell-signs):</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uurapmRtkCxcHKnHso2PdT-fpc72yquR5XDxMn7ZfORGr5Yu5t8sQYG159HwyKRYJtlh6VXedYFgEC6wFXpbLH3mL4DzJqRhXow76ab0EeTGHNQgNb2pk2AA-ZxpmFUv0snP0govbnrz/s1600/2013-08-16+14.07.35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uurapmRtkCxcHKnHso2PdT-fpc72yquR5XDxMn7ZfORGr5Yu5t8sQYG159HwyKRYJtlh6VXedYFgEC6wFXpbLH3mL4DzJqRhXow76ab0EeTGHNQgNb2pk2AA-ZxpmFUv0snP0govbnrz/s320/2013-08-16+14.07.35.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">until I eventually found the place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was the earliest I had ever arrived at an <i>albergue</i> - it was barely 4pm. I spent some time admiring the pristine cleanliness, the washers / dryers, the triple-bunks, the mess hall. I also spent some time chatting with our various friends we'd met along the way - the French couple from Portugalete, the Spanish couple from Laredo, a few others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The most unique albergue</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I first arrived at the <i>albergue</i>, I walked into a group of 10 people of various ages and nationalities, some wearing hiking clothes and some wearing farmer clothes and some wearing nicer clothes. There were a few small children with their parents or grandparents as well. The group was sitting on chairs and benches outside the foyer of a two-story ranch house. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I came up the hill and was immediately beckoned to sit, given a glass of water, and told to relax. An older man was in the middle of a song with his guitar, accompanied by his wife singing. I sat transfixed at the scene before me - I felt like I had just entered into a surreal, musical world. For 15 minutes I was lost in the Spanish guitar, the voices, the melody, and the atmosphere of rural northern Spain. When the songs ended, one of the volunteers at the <i>albergue</i> checked me in and showed me to my room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was left mostly to myself for a few hours to nurse my blisters and relax until the next day. I got to admire the triple-bunks, the cleanliness, the washer/dryer (which I didn't actually use because I thought it was too expensive), and the relaxed atmosphere. A German group was in the room next to mine, so there was the low chatter of German. I spent some time lying in the sun reading my book, enjoying just being outside and relaxed in such a nice atmosphere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At 7pm, we had a "<i>peregrinos</i> meeting" where Ernesto, the owner of the <i>albergue, </i>explained the history of the albergue and the various ways to get to Santander from Güemes. </span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fd4UO1NeQUs/UiOtKFeWS6I/AAAAAAAABzY/ou-dx7FB8ZI/s1600/0816131935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fd4UO1NeQUs/UiOtKFeWS6I/AAAAAAAABzY/ou-dx7FB8ZI/s320/0816131935.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There were about 30 people in the <i>albergue</i> that night, each with his own unique group and unique story to share.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The history of the albergue</span></h3>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ernesto, who sported a 2-inch-long white beard and exuded the wisdom of decades, explained in great detail his life and the story of the <i>albergue</i>. A large portion of the guests there that night did not speak Spanish but spoke good English, so a translator was necessary. Fortunately for me (I speak great English and pretty decent Spanish), a British girl had already befriended Ernesto and was chosen to be the translator. She did ask me a few times when she didn't catch Ernesto's phrases to translate, but mostly I got to enjoy and listen to the story.</span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The house the <i>albergue</i> is in was Ernesto's family's home. It was vacated in the 50s by his family, but he moved back here to restore and rejuvenate it around 1975, at the start of the popularity of the Camino del Norte.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ernesto studied to be a priest (in Spanish, a <i>cura</i>) and worked for many years in a small remote village at the top of a mountain. He showed us the picture of the village he worked in (and the trail he used to walk up to it), and it made me glad for the existance of motorized vehicles. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After he finished his studies and working for a time, Ernesto took a "<i>doctorado de la vida</i>" as he called it, traveling the world for two years, stopping in South America, Asia, Africa, and Europe. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ernesto loved traveling and meeting people so much that he wanted to bring that experience back to his native home, and decided to open an <i>albergue</i> on the Camino del Norte. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The <i>albergue</i> would be a meeting place for travelers, <i>peregrinos</i>, and enthusiasts. The payment would be by donation only, with each paying as much as he thought appropriate for the services and experience he was given. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Those who wanted to stay longer at the <i>albergue</i> could volunteer their time in exchange for room and board for (almost) as long as they wanted. (For example, I met an Irish woman who was working at the <i>albergue</i> for 3 months before going back to Ireland to re-start her new career as an accountant). </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Those who stayed at the <i>albergue</i> were encouraged to share their stories and experiences with one another, and bring their positive values back to their home societies.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The end of the meeting also included a song by the man who was singing earlier, revealed to be Ernesto's cousin. </span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were also explained the three different ways to get to Santander: </span></div>
<div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">10km along the highway (...groan from the peanut gallery)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">13km half-highway, half-coast</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">15km along the coast (cheer!)</span></li>
</ol>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Right then and there I decided that I was going to try to go for the coastal route - if I started early like everyone else was bound to do, it would take me only 4 hours maximum and I would meet Leah and Kayla in Santander before lunch.</span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dinner</span></h3>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After the <i>peregrino</i>'s meeting there was a communal dinner, cooked and served by the volunteers and full-time staff of the <i>albergue</i>. I sat and chatted with a German woman working at Mercedes-Benz (her adventure stories made me miss my fellow MITOCers and their crazy world travels), a Romanian woman recently-emigrated to the UK starting a new career, a Korean couple, and a plethora of Spanish couples young and old. The young women who were hiking alone were more drawn to talking to each other, since we all were eager to share our stories and experiences. During dinner Ernesto made us all make a communal toast (not religious of course) and pointedly showed us where the donation box is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The hermita</span></h3>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After dinner Ernesto needed yet another translator to talk about the <i>hermita</i> on the <i>albergue</i> property. The word <i>hermita</i> in Spanish is most closely translated as a "hermit's lair" without the negative connotations. It is a place to work, sleep, eat, think, pray, and study. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xMtsru7ms0U/UiOtKOnqH_I/AAAAAAAABzY/4XSA6FNXYg8/s1600/0816132231c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xMtsru7ms0U/UiOtKOnqH_I/AAAAAAAABzY/4XSA6FNXYg8/s320/0816132231c.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ernesto's <i>hermita</i> was an 8-sided structure (not circular to facilitate the building of benches along the inside walls), painted and decorated by a Brazilian artist friend of Ernesto's. Ernesto spent some time explaining the significance and story of the paintings along the walls: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-76czyvmsIJQ/UiOtKBDJziI/AAAAAAAABzY/GVY4PVykCUI/s1600/0816132230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-76czyvmsIJQ/UiOtKBDJziI/AAAAAAAABzY/GVY4PVykCUI/s320/0816132230.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Camino is a journey of life, for the heart and the soul as well as the feet. The travelers are laden with their bags and in various stages of tiredness and exhaustion, looking down at the trail for the yellow arrows that mark the path. The shells mark the signs of the Camino, their use for the <i>peregrinos</i> multi-faceted.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgXDg7OmeUfY7uya4kCz0Vzb5yNZDqAf0uvyyErNex-rPMreWJgu9NWW2wjiA7kX2lL1vi_Bp4q_CVrAoOwbPYSHAFgtbhoS6Tko9pY9woJuh8aC1_0fXMnjZc2ton_15-_P-rypC1LJW/s1600/2013-08-16+22.30.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgXDg7OmeUfY7uya4kCz0Vzb5yNZDqAf0uvyyErNex-rPMreWJgu9NWW2wjiA7kX2lL1vi_Bp4q_CVrAoOwbPYSHAFgtbhoS6Tko9pY9woJuh8aC1_0fXMnjZc2ton_15-_P-rypC1LJW/s320/2013-08-16+22.30.51.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The outstretched (multi-racial) hands are asking the universe for a good experience of the Camino. The eyes are constantly searching for the right Way, and the feet are always sore from the day's exertion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8WjBndRf0r3nCAJK-RfGXalOiZtIYkYuwJdGESNWT-OwvzHb2TuHqdPv9EZaEuZhBxTjjvFpRoXAeVZ_ltOkCQvnTPIfAsJnWKiDG6lFrzmO1RKWsjZ3f4yfNcZBU9uMpX2KA_52PMrM/s1600/2013-08-16+22.30.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8WjBndRf0r3nCAJK-RfGXalOiZtIYkYuwJdGESNWT-OwvzHb2TuHqdPv9EZaEuZhBxTjjvFpRoXAeVZ_ltOkCQvnTPIfAsJnWKiDG6lFrzmO1RKWsjZ3f4yfNcZBU9uMpX2KA_52PMrM/s320/2013-08-16+22.30.58.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The <i>peregrinos</i> are always searching, always looking, always reaching. They are sometimes lost, discouraged, confused. They are reaching forward towards something, sometimes unclear about what they are searching for or where it is. They all think they are searching for the yellow arrows that are pointing them along the Way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r2QvJFfQMuY/UiOtKJmG6UI/AAAAAAAABzU/SxtRI1ML0vE/s1600/0816132231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r2QvJFfQMuY/UiOtKJmG6UI/AAAAAAAABzU/SxtRI1ML0vE/s320/0816132231.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Some travelers are so focused on the trail that they only follow the yellow arrows without regard for anyone else or their troubles. But some (man, woman, black, white, all kinds) help each other through the troubles of Camino (and of life). Those who help are REALLY the ones following the Way, as shown by the angels bringing down a yellow arrow to the altruistic group.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8w7hIW2kGLg/UiOtKBliR-I/AAAAAAAABzY/P8Q3RaqFj70/s1600/0816132231a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8w7hIW2kGLg/UiOtKBliR-I/AAAAAAAABzY/P8Q3RaqFj70/s320/0816132231a.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Camino is a place to share meals, stories, experiences, and life. It is a place to meet other travelers and experience the goodness that is inside each ordinary person. People walk the Camino to be reminded of the ordinary pleasures of life.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wPUj1ZjoD4Y/UiOtKFf6U9I/AAAAAAAABzY/dQaGPOp4kjo/s1600/0816132231b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wPUj1ZjoD4Y/UiOtKFf6U9I/AAAAAAAABzY/dQaGPOp4kjo/s320/0816132231b.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once you have found that the Camino is about meeting people, helping each other, sharing experiences, and finding the goodness inside yourself, then you have succeeded in finishing the Camino. The end of the Camino is not in Santiago de Compostela (and that is why it is not depicted here), but the end is inside each one of us, as soon as we discover the goodness that is inside each other. The world is brighter for these discoveries, and we need them for the survival of humanity at large.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And onwards</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I eventually heard from Leah that Kayla had made it to Santander (I would get the full story later), but because I had such a great time meeting travelers in Güemes, I forgot about the original plan to meet here. I went to sleep happy I had met these interesting people, and glad that I had accidentally stopped in Güemes for the night. If you follow the Camino del Norte, make sure to stop in Güemes, but on purpose.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com039191 Güemes, Cantabria, Spain43.455090899999988 -3.637711599999988743.455090899999988 -3.6377115999999887 43.455090899999988 -3.6377115999999887tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-61342432610527899672013-08-15T17:45:00.000-04:002013-10-01T05:16:40.033-04:00Better beaches and communal showers<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">An uneventful morning (other than the constant gorgeous countryside of course) before a coffee / wifi break in Liendo. In some towns, the concept of "town" is stretched quite a bit. Like in Liendo, which was bigger than many towns we passed through. But here, the main restaurant, bar, and grocery store (and <i>hospitaliero</i> for the albergue in the off-hours) was actually the same place. After stocking up and eating, we decided our aim was for Santoña that day. The map said 23km, and from Liendo (we had already gone 11ish), totally doable for the afternoon. </span><br />
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We stopped by the albergue on our way out of town to talk to the <i>hospitaliero</i> (on a tip from a lovely Spanish couple, who told me to ask about the shortcut), who told us not to take the Camino. She said we would run into a sign along the Camino for a left turn, but that she had written a "NO" on it, just to make sure people won't go there. According to her, it's a terrible hike - poorly maintained, lots of ups and downs, and completely wooded with no good views of neither the valley below or the coast across the valley. Sure enough, we found that sign: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon9Rpb_mNuv-rHWjDDmKu_NBchqsOako5n_6gVgyTxZUbhnx5E6irSzbsTkMu1YQF5ueUvFzRM7yHFjWn3tgJbGa3P8QQ_8zF1vms11NqJijSNpDPy16fxjJybCb1SihquqLScIEJnpXr/s1600/2013-08-15+14.12.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon9Rpb_mNuv-rHWjDDmKu_NBchqsOako5n_6gVgyTxZUbhnx5E6irSzbsTkMu1YQF5ueUvFzRM7yHFjWn3tgJbGa3P8QQ_8zF1vms11NqJijSNpDPy16fxjJybCb1SihquqLScIEJnpXr/s320/2013-08-15+14.12.02.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And found some other Camino folks sitting confused next to it by the side of the road (including our French guy friends <a href="http://mpratravel.blogspot.co.il/2013/08/monokinis-and-beetle-war-bushes-beaches.html">from the church</a> a few days before). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it turns out, the shortcut along the highway was definitely worth it. We were rewarded after a few kilometers walking with gorgeous views of the biggest beach we had seen so far (even bigger than at Islares!). Turns out, the beach was 5km long!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDF40xBvxiCa1BWkbefaygAkO1EA3r9iiz5t9YDWRrWlaCLwKii0PuJNrdorsT6WO4OHkz7227noNptLjvXFyn12U4_sZTn7yK4vQU8jyr80UAbtw0cuwbWs_TtmrTJG9ZPfYy73HUHDzc/s1600/2013-08-15+14.36.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDF40xBvxiCa1BWkbefaygAkO1EA3r9iiz5t9YDWRrWlaCLwKii0PuJNrdorsT6WO4OHkz7227noNptLjvXFyn12U4_sZTn7yK4vQU8jyr80UAbtw0cuwbWs_TtmrTJG9ZPfYy73HUHDzc/s320/2013-08-15+14.36.00.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were so tired from the incredible heat that day that after acquiring our map in the town center, all we could do was be exhausted.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDhhyphenhyphenW7rS_71U_YYnQzJ1Eqc8jV7ONv1Xe77ZTG9dN6f1p34rCbGU6lcM8rX8-nSzZqKzm5gn_fKm2WaJ4Mp0ToPJsiWgG1GCdnBAtZRbjnOxVjXBbOxuLZUja5Rr9OkVIYfWJ7t_dsC4/s1600/2013-08-15+15.02.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDhhyphenhyphenW7rS_71U_YYnQzJ1Eqc8jV7ONv1Xe77ZTG9dN6f1p34rCbGU6lcM8rX8-nSzZqKzm5gn_fKm2WaJ4Mp0ToPJsiWgG1GCdnBAtZRbjnOxVjXBbOxuLZUja5Rr9OkVIYfWJ7t_dsC4/s320/2013-08-15+15.02.50.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So we just called that afternoon a beach afternoon, celebrating with some <i>tinto de verano</i> (the first and only of the entire trip). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When we were done at the beach, we walked all the way down to the end of the beach, where across the small channel we saw the town of Santoña. For 2 euros, we got a 30-second ferry across from a tiny boat that just pushed up on the shore of the beach on the Laredo end and bumped into the dock on the other. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigecN1YguvEviYr4SfnNaehywwNakOYf-uOxNaI3Z4os92AIw4Qu3eeG7ON3wzS9dw-4IQ5c2BEHnbDlEbDZPpJnZlwixMkgc4bFVlWl8_zT7YUz22eHzJf5enR7qgg6SsqWXC0D9an9ox/s1600/2013-08-15+18.52.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigecN1YguvEviYr4SfnNaehywwNakOYf-uOxNaI3Z4os92AIw4Qu3eeG7ON3wzS9dw-4IQ5c2BEHnbDlEbDZPpJnZlwixMkgc4bFVlWl8_zT7YUz22eHzJf5enR7qgg6SsqWXC0D9an9ox/s320/2013-08-15+18.52.48.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The municipal albergue was far away from the center of town - at least 1.5 km. But the cool part was that it was part of the YMCA building that was built over a marina. Santoña was surrounded by three sides on water, so the albergue just happened to be right over the water, overlooking the path back towards Laredo. It's external doors closed at 10, so we quickly ran to town, had a menú del día for dinner, and ran back. Then we had to take showers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What we didn't realize until the morning after was that the showers for the albergue were the same showers that were shared with the YMCA - downstairs. The rooms were all upstairs, holding about 25 people each. Each room also had a shower, but they were YMCA-style communal showers. This was the first time we had ever seen communal showers in the albergues; it is normal in gyms in the US, but we had never seen them in Europe. Not a problem, just pretend you're at the gym and all is well. The snoring, creaking, sniffling room of 25 people meant a decent sleep but not the best we'd had all trip.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A 10-day reflection</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At this point in the trip, we had walked 10 days. I wasn't sure how I felt about the pace, the group dynamic, my own Camino experience in general. The day was a good one - we did have tinto de verano and the beach, but I was getting the feeling that we were behind what I considered to be our ideal schedule. We had one very long day to Santander, or two shorter days if we stopped at Güemes in the albergue there. Leah's tendons were not doing well, Kayla still didn't have a phone, and I still felt responsible for the group. Over the past 10 days, I felt like I was giving up my ability to go faster in exchange for sticking together with the group. I did enjoy spending time with my friends, but it wasn't how I was envisioning my Camino. I counted, and at this pace we would have to bus through some sections of the Camino. In principle, the Camino is not about how far you walk or how fast you walk, but it's about the journey you take while you walk. And the people you meet. And the experiences you have. For me, I felt like all these things were true. If I could have all the experiences, meet all the people, make the journey, and NOT have to bus through any sections, wouldn't that be a more complete Camino?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today we had accomplished day 10: Guriezo to Santoña, 23km, and I was ready to push forward.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-48732141446267480972013-08-14T17:45:00.000-04:002013-09-28T18:32:25.844-04:00Monokinis and The Beetle War: Bushes, Beaches, and Churches<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Getting up in the morning in Portugalete, Leah and I were getting nervous about not having heard from Kayla. We were definitely less nervous than the <a href="http://mpratravel.blogspot.com/2013/08/when-you-dont-follow-yellow-brick-road.html">last time</a> we lost Kayla, but this time we had seen her last at 3pm the day before. Now it was 8am and our plan was to go to the albergue (she knew where it was) and hopefully that would be our rendezvous point. Thank goodness in the middle of this conversation my phone rang and it was Kayla. She was waiting for us at the albergue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We finished our breakfast (again of <i>tortilla española</i> and coffee, at a bar inside the town this time), taking advantage of being in a town to get some non-supermarket food to eat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bushes?</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We met Kayla at the albergue (which turned out to indeed be quite a walk from the center of town - we never would have made it the day before with our pained feet) and heard her side of the story. Apparently she got to Castro-Urdiales around 8pm and felt too tired to walk to the albergue (sound familiar? Apparently Kayla had been having a "death march" of her own), so she just went to the church at the end of the beach, hoping it would be there. When it didn't seem likely, she just found some bushes between two properties, set out her sleeping bag and pad, and spent the night in the bushes. Way more intense than me and Leah. But at least we had a shower. Regardless, second breakfast was in order, so we split our food, ate breakfast, and continued onward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Beaches</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The walk that day promised to be gorgeous and along the coast. It definitely delivered. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The town was Islares, in Cantabria. The campground next to this enormous beach had cars from the Netherlands, France, Germany, even one from the UK. It was clearly a destination spot where families brought all their belongings and set up camp for weeks at a time for the summer. To say there were "tents" is an understatement - more like polyester palaces. And plenty of mobile homes of course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This time, after the <a href="http://mpratravel.blogspot.com/2013/08/day-8-death-march.html">death march</a> of the day before and the weather being nice, we decided to treat ourselves to a (half) day on the beach. First, of course, we had hamburgers at the beach bar for lunch. You know how you crave hamburgers after a day of hiking? How about after 9 days? Yea, I enjoyed it too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The mono-kini musing</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Kayla and Leah both had bathing suits so their plan of attack was to change and enjoy. (They both also have a much higher tolerance for cold water than I do, so my swimming tends to last all of 5 minutes). But I did not have a bathing suit, as I was planning to use my sports bra and swim shorts instead. Or go monokini (for those who don't get the joke, a "bi-kini" has two parts, whereas a "mono-kini" only has one). But I noticed something interesting about the pattern of topless women. My misconception of European women is that they are always topless at the beach. But it seemed that I was wrong in that respect - there were definitely rules. If you were a woman going topless at the beach, you were stationary. There were no women actively swimming, jogging, or even walking while topless. If you were topless, you were sitting or lying down, most likely sunbathing. Age didn't seem to break this barrier either (unless you're a girl under the age of 12, then you just wear underwear and call it a day), since there were older women and younger women going topless, but they were all stationary. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In light of the recognition of these rules of play, I went swimming in my sports bra and while it dried out in the sun, I napped and read (while lying down, motionless) topless. It was quite the liberating experience, since in the US toplessness at beaches is not only frowned upon, but illegal in some places. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Churches (or, one specific church)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By the time we woke up from our beach naps (clearly having burned the back of our legs), it was 4pm and probably time to get going. The closest albergue was in El Pontarrón, some 3km away. This would only take an hour, but the next one after that would be another 10km more. No way. We were already tired so we decided we'd go for the albergue. But we had a slight problem: we didn't know exactly where it was. The Camino had followed along the highway while paralleling the beach, but now it split, and it was unclear whether the sign was pointing 300m along the highway (not along the Camino) or along the Camino (not along the highway) to the albergue. I thought it must be on the Camino, Leah thought exactly opposite. Turns out, Leah got 5 points and I got -1. She was most definitely right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On the plus side, we passed a supermarket along our path and got our food for the next few meals. At this point, we were resigned to tenting tonight - now we were on the lookout for a spot. Turns out, we were more lucky than we thought. Two French guys had been in the supermarket alongside us, doing very similar shopping. They spoke no English, and Leah spoke broken French. We discerned that they had started the Camino from Marseilles in France and had rarely slept in an albergue - their method was to go from church to church, sleeping in the patio out of the wind. Because they would leave so early in the morning, they would always leave before disturbing anyone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After some half-serious deliberation about what we would do if a priest / monk / friar would come out of the church and tell us that we can't stay there (in which it was decided that I would start speaking in Russian in the hopes that he was Russian, all else failing telling him nicely in Spanish that we were <i>peregrinos</i>), we decided to follow the French guys to the church right next to the supermarket. There was a perfect patio with a covered roof and sheltered from the wind, so we gave it a try. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Beetles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A clear con of sleeping in a stone patio was that there were bugs. Like the giant beetle that fell from the ceiling, about three times as large as my big toe. I had a fencing fight with it just to show it who was boss (photo credit to Leah).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDNjdqQud0WhwC9hzfJgscq9I9IGhT6BW6cFIY3Pt-OO2uOo5D2YsVZ-yDDAlMPORH9krLN89frtnQ9cjKOEAXhsW-E7G5q3SezBaqAhiaerMKcxaoPVdtfiPezb1tJOxk-1To9VeY8eu/s1600/large_bug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDNjdqQud0WhwC9hzfJgscq9I9IGhT6BW6cFIY3Pt-OO2uOo5D2YsVZ-yDDAlMPORH9krLN89frtnQ9cjKOEAXhsW-E7G5q3SezBaqAhiaerMKcxaoPVdtfiPezb1tJOxk-1To9VeY8eu/s320/large_bug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After that incident (and having to throw the bug multiple times off the patio to keep it from coming back), I refused to sleep without a roof over my head, so we pitched the tent. Kayla of course got the best part in the bargain because she found her two perfect trees for the hammock. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The end of day 9 was only about 15km from Castro-Urdiales to Guriezo, but boy was it a memorable one - bushes, beaches, churches, monokinis, beetles, and French guys. Where else but on the Camino?</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com139798 Islares, Cantabria, Spain43.404759 -3.30421810000007116.442522999999998 -44.61281210000007 70.366995 38.004375899999928tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-11536216317035790332013-08-13T21:39:00.000-04:002013-09-28T18:51:24.940-04:00Day 8: "The Death March"<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You know there's going to be some kind of story when the title of this post is "The Death March." I guess there's not really as much of a story as there is hurt feet. </span><br />
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Portugalete - Castro-Urdiales (31km)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My getting to Portugalete early the day before meant that I had time to buy groceries for breakfast, which of course included cereal and milk (yep, the kind of milk they have in Europe that is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultra-high-temperature_processing">UHT</a>, or "ultra-heat treated," popular in hot countries like Spain as an alternative to having to refrigerate milk). I as always wanted to push onward, hard and fast. After a terrible walk the day before through the industrial wasteland that was suburban Bilbao, I wanted to get going. The chocolate cereal and milk that morning was supposed to be another data point in our test - so far, it seemed that if we ate chocolate cereal with milk in the mornings, we would go at least 30km that day. It started out a nice day - slightly overcast, so not too hot, with the promise of slightly cooler than the previous days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A common feature of Camino paths is that there are many options - this time, there was the option of taking a "shorter shortcut" path to the small town of Pobeña, or walking along the coast starting at La Arena (a town who's name means "the beach" in Spanish). Naturally, we wanted to walk along the coast, since that was part of the reason for choosing the northern route in the first place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our of Portugalete the Camino went along a very unique suburban bike path - it was an elevated bridge that circled around huge highways, through parks, and around all the clutter of the highways below. It was an elevated walkway that connected Portugalete all the way to the beach at La Arena, 10km away. I saw many people running, biking, jogging, walking, strolling, and just enjoying the day. A few other Camino-goers were about, but mostly there were elderly couples, older groups of women, and older single men getting their exercise on this mostly-flat bike path. At the point where the path diverged between Pobeña and La Arena, I stopped to look at my map and wait a bit for Leah / Kayla. A very helpful gentleman came up to tell me the way to find the Camino along the beach at La Arena, advising me that the way through Pobeña was ugly and industrial. Good, I wasn't planning on going that way anyway =).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I got closer to La Arena around 11am, the clouds looked ominous and it started to rain. I hid in a cafe right next to the beach to use the wifi, get a coffee, and wait. Leah and Kayla joined me, so we figured we'd just have lunch there and get rid of some of the weight we were carrying. Using the intelligence I picked up from miscellaneous-stranger-on-the-bike-path, we walked along the beach to find the Camino on the other side. Kayla, as always, wanted to go swimming, but because it looked like it was going to rain and we had a long way to go today, she settled for just walking in the sand to meet us at the footbridge on the other side. The beach was gorgeous - long, sandy, with precipitous cliffs on either side. This is the view from the cafe:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another feature of walking in a country with 15 regional languages is that the towns usually have two names - this gets especially confusing when your guide shows towns in two provinces on the same page. Do you write the name in Basque? In Gallego? In Castellano? In English? Spanglish? You get the point. One such town was the town of El Haya. I mean Kobaron. I mean Cobáron. Whatever - at some point after this town, the province of Cantabria started! This means we had walked through TWO provinces! Only 3 more to go....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking onward past the town of Ontón, we had the option of maybe walking along the highway to cut down on some time. It really sucks to walk along the highway, so we decided to not go that route. It was still early, it was warm, we had a tent, it would be fine. The signs were easy to follow (you never know when you enter a new province exactly how the signage was going to be), and there was a 2km-long chunk of straight uphill switchbacks. Leah and I were walking together, having gone ahead of Kayla about an hour before. We were on the hunt for a supermarket - our pamphlet said there would be one in Ontón or Baltezana (we saw none in either), so we sat in the shade to wait for Kayla and munch on some granola bars. I was hungry, so I ate 4 bars and ended up with no more in my pocket. We were going to have to find food or a supermarket soon, because we all know what happens when MICHELE HUNGRY. Waiting for an hour while reading our books, we decide that we should press on (remember, Kayla still doesn't have a phone at this point), else our hunger get the best of us. At 4pm we leave, thinking we have about 10km more to go to Castro-Urdiales (for those who are counting, this should take about 3 hours walking at a reasonable pace). I hadn't eaten all that much and we were taking long breaks after periods of intense walking on more paved roads than usual. A dull remember-we're-here pain started to develop in my feet. After taking my weight off them for a few minutes at a time it would go away, but 5 minutes of walking later would just re-ignite the dull fires. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our hunger overtakes us in Santullán. We see no grocery stores but see a bar - jumping at this opportunity, we get coffee and<i> </i>Leah's first <i>tortilla española </i>(in English the word "tortilla" is the flat bread we use to make wraps with, but in Castellano, <i>tortilla española</i> is an omlette with cheese, milk, onions, and potatoes), an incredibly filling first dinner. I even forgot about my aching feet, glad for the chance to sit down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Asking an older man we see outside the bar for the supermarket, he points us in the direction we think Castro-Urdiales is, saying "the closest one is 2km there, in Castro." My feet were killing me. We thought we had another 4km or so along the Camino, but this man was telling us 2km to Castro. Leah's ankles were starting to hurt too, so we jumped on the chance - it was likely that the Camino didn't go past the three giant supermarkets this man was promising us. This "road" he pointed us to turned out to be CA-250 - a provincial highway between the towns. Good thing provincial highway in this part of Spain just meant one-lane road with more-than-the-occasional car on it. It did mean no sidewalks, and it did mean pavement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My. Feet. Hurt. It hurt to walk, and I needed my poles to make any progress at all. They had never hurt this bad before, and they both hurt equally. As I walked I did a quick mental assessment: I hadn't tripped or twisted any ankles, I hadn't stepped on anything pointy, I hadn't gotten bitten by some kind of animal. They hurt equally, which meant that the most likely candidate was just exhaustion from walking, not eating enough that day, the heat, not drinking enough water, or a combination of all of the above. I concluded I was in no immediate danger and should just press onward until the next break would come. Every few steps I would let out a grunt of exertion, and I could hear Leah behind me in a similar state. Clearly we needed to get to Castro - if it was that close - and rest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We passed the as-promised enormous supermarkets and made quite the show of hobbling through the aisles (Leah could walk better, so she took most of the groceries. I needed my poles so tried hard not to knock anything over while I stumbled around). We hadn't seen or heard from Kayla all day, but made sure to buy dinner and breakfast for her too, assuming we'd see her in Castro-Urdiales. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The beach, port, and marina came soon enough - we were in the city, so we knew we would be OK. Stopping frequently along the boardwalk (but still going faster than the elderly couples going for a stroll!), we got to a tourist information booth around 7pm. The man was friendly - he gave us a map, told us a bit about Castro, and in a very nice voice explained to us that the <i>albergue</i> was not only 1km out of town, but it was also filled to capacity. He showed us some <i>pensiones</i> on the map (and the campground about 1km away). Leah and I made a show of trying to decide what was better - spending 40 euros for one night in a <i>pensión</i> or saving a few bucks to sleep at the campground. After hobbling in the town for a few blocks we quickly realized what the answer was - we were in no mental or physical state to walk another 1km to the campground (and a shower is always nice), so we walked to the nearest <i>pensión </i>and asked for a room. They were full. Next one. Also full. Damnit, we only have 3 more options! This time we call them, finally finding the last one we called (the one farthest away from us, of course) to have space. We walk there, check in, eat dinner, and hunker down to wait for Kayla. We spent 45 euros that night for the two of us to sleep in a bed, have a private shower, and not get woken up at 6am when all the other <i>peregrinos </i>leave. It was totally worth it, and my poor tired feet appreciated it. (Little did we know that we would walk by the <i>albergue</i> the next day to see that we could have just set up our tent on their lawn for free. Oh well.). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After dinner in Castro, still not having heard from Kayla, we decided to go to sleep after getting some concession-frozen-yogurt right next to the <i>pensión</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The hot shower helped my feet, but most of all the sleep and elevation helped them get better overnight. The next morning I woke up feeling completely rejuvenated - the death march of the day before completely forgotten. No other day on the Camino felt as bad as this one did for my feet - after consulting with other <i>peregrinos</i> along the way, we all concluded that the hardest day is Day 8. Not only are you walking on pavement more than you are used to, but your body is weary, drained, and ready to give up. The only way you make it is if you work through the pain to keep going, onward, westward, towards Santiago. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Castro Urdiales, Cantabria, Spain43.381901000000013 -3.21942699999999643.335735000000014 -3.3001079999999963 43.428067000000013 -3.1387459999999958tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-55904799840067769352013-08-11T03:15:00.000-04:002013-09-16T21:35:42.842-04:00The Promised Land #1: Bilbao<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were coming up again on the city of dreams. Of hopes. Of showers, culture, an art museum, a half day of rest, the chance for internet, large supermarkets, SIM cards, and much more. To us, Bilbao was the Promised Land (#1, as it turned out. Santander, Lugo, and Santiago de Compostela would also be Promised Lands, but we wouldn't figure this out until much later).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A bit about Bilbao</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bilbao, home of the <a href="http://www.athletic-club.net/web/main.asp?a=0&idi=2">Athletic Bilbao soccer team</a>, is the capital of the autonomous community of Viscay (also spelled Biscay or Vizcaya). It is an industrial center, a big city (population more than 350,000), an art center, and a religious center. The city is not situated on the coast, bur rather along a small river that runs near the old city. The Casco Viejo (old city) is a series of winding street with great tapas restaurants, situated right near the train station. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From first glance it is an industrial city, but it definitely boasts lots of Basque pride. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">8/11/2013: Eskerika - Bilbao (~21km)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Starting in Eskerika, we only had to go about 21km to get to Bilbao - an easier day than we had been having so far. I got ahead of the others a short while after Zamudio. There was a huge uphill after we all stopped for a granola bar / lunch break. The panoramic view on top of the mountain overlooking Bilbao was breathtaking - it gave a little prize for the uphill climb just made. </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHadiXxBsZ8/UiUFzGRq0PI/AAAAAAAADLg/dG2B1mlA7z4/s1600/0811131428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="95" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MHadiXxBsZ8/UiUFzGRq0PI/AAAAAAAADLg/dG2B1mlA7z4/s400/0811131428.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D-QcEGeMJpA/UiUFzNv3WeI/AAAAAAAADLg/uXsx2E2Bn18/s1600/0811131427a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D-QcEGeMJpA/UiUFzNv3WeI/AAAAAAAADLg/uXsx2E2Bn18/s320/0811131427a.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it was blazing hot, so out came the sun gear! </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ZgRCrXWUI/UiUFzEiJG0I/AAAAAAAADLk/WAeWEW6EM3Y/s1600/0811131430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ZgRCrXWUI/UiUFzEiJG0I/AAAAAAAADLk/WAeWEW6EM3Y/s320/0811131430.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On the trail, I met some older Spanish men who I played leap-frog with up the mountain. The way into Bilbao was marked well enough until I went all the day downhill into the central square where there was a huge grocery store - the biggest one we'd seen so far, closed, of course, because it was Sunday and everything is closed on Sundays in Spain. I followed the arrows until the center of town and the obviously-closed Pilgrim Information Booth, from where the arrows completely disappeared.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had gotten a call from Leah about 45 minutes before that saying she had gotten off the trail, but was with some Spanish guys (I assume the same ones I had run into earlier) and they were taking a bus back to Bilbao. I had no way of calling Kayla (she still didn't have a phone by this point - they are hard to buy not in large cities), so I hunkered down at the place where the arrows stopped to read my book, eat the rest of my granola bars, and wait. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When Kayla arrived about 45 minutes later, we walked to the river and sat on the steps of yet another church to wait for Leah. Apparently we were magically still on the Camino, because Casey, a friend we had met in San Sebastián, walked by, so he sat down with us and chatted. At this point I was famished because I had eaten too many granola bars that morning, so I was probably not in the happiest mood, but with trips like these you have to learn to take what you're given. Thankfully, Leah had both GoogleMaps and GPS on her phone, so she met us at the church 20 minutes later. At this point it was 6pm, and the albergue in Bilbao was another 3km away up a large hill (and far away from the center of town) so we followed Casey to the hostel he was staying at, the <a href="http://bilbaocentralhostel.com/index.php/en/">Bilbao Central Hostel</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We got to the hostel and ended up sitting outside for a while (the buzzer didn't work and the guy at the desk wouldn't believe me when I called so we only got in when he realized he hadn't been seeing people come up in a while) with a crowd of 8+ people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Casey didn't have a reservation, but got one of the two remaining beds. He nicely asked the guy at reception for "las chicas gratis" ("the girls are free, right?") but got a laugh instead. There was no more space for the three of us, but the receptionist and I had a small discussion about the facts. We needed a place to sleep and we had sleeping bags so could definitely use a floor. He wanted more money and publicity for the hostel. Win-win! He let us into a room on the second floor that the hostel owned but didn't rent out. For 8 euros (instead of the 15 for the "normal" hostel approach) each, we got this "private room" with access to the showers, living room, computers, and laundry on the first floor. We could leave our stuff in there unattended, and all of us could simultaneously leave our phones to charge without worrying that they would be stolen. The catch was two-fold: the air mattresses in the room were the loudest air mattresses I'd ever slept on, and it was unclear about whether we were actually supposed to be on that second floor at all. His warnings about security cameras and not to touch anything might have meant nothing at all, but we followed his instructions to the letter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For dinner we wandered into the old city for some <i>pinchos</i> as an appetizer (essentially single-person portions of some kind of tapas, served on a small piece of bread) and then went to a restaurant to get wine and a piece of meat for dinner. Fed, showered, and relaxed, we went to bed on our squeaky air mattresses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">8/12/2013: Bilbao - Portugalete (the short way, 15km)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Laundry and internet are luxuries, as we quickly realized, so we did laundry and internet in the morning at the hostel while we had the chance. On the way to the museum in the morning, we even passed by an outdoor gear store and walked in. Leah decided ultimately that she didn't need to carry both a towel AND an extra shirt, so she forewent buying a camp towel and continued to use her extra shirt for the rest of the trip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The one thing Leah and Kayla wanted to do in Bilbao was go to the Guggenheim. I had already been there last year, so I decided I'd rather have a calm walk and relax at the next albergue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The <strike>weird</strike> interesting thing about the Guggenheim in Bilbao is that it was designed by none other than Frank Gehry, designer of MIT's Stata Center. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(photo taken from Wikipedia)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While Leah and Kayla were being cultured, I walked the "alternate route" to the next albergue in Portugalete and said goodbye to our First Promised Land. Through Bilbao itself, it is a 19km walk. This alternate is flat and 15 km. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What our book doesn't say is that the green line trail leads you through the industrial wasteland that is the suburbs of Bilbao. And the arrows along the trail are as confused as you are:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(it is in fact pointing 180 degrees in the wrong direction, while the sharpie is in fact correct)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The walk itself was terrible - I liked walking alone to just relax, think about puzzles, and get some exercise. But there was absolutely nothing to see, and I should have just taken a bus. The one redeeming thing about the walk was that you get to cross on foot the famous Biscay Bridge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The bridge, rather than being a traditional drawbridge or twisting bridge, looks in structure similar to the Tower of London bridge, with a high parapet above the water, but to get across there is a cable-car-like piece that almost swings back and forth. Cars, pedestrians, and bikes alike pile onto the bridge and are ferried across on this interesting structure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Right before the albergue, there was a nice local bakery where I couldn't resist the urge to buy a <i>napolitana de chocolate</i> (think chocolate croissant). And the real strange treat with Portugalete was the moving walkways - to get to the center of town you need to go up a hill, but why walk when there are moving walkways up?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you know a bit of Spanish, you always translate</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The <i>hospitaliero</i> was an extremely friendly lady - she didn't speak much English, so asked me to translate for a number of people who had come in who did not speak Spanish. From her I learned that Portugal is gorgeous, and definitely worth going to at some point. There was a couple from France who had been section-walking the Camino for a number of years (this year ending in Santander). Mr. (actually, Dr. as it turned out) spoke French and a bit of English, and Mrs. was very good at charades - I was the go-between between them and the <i>hospitaliero</i> in my three words of French, good Spanish, and excellent English. It was going so well, in fact, that the Dr. and the Mrs. started speaking to me in French, forgetting that I couldn't really respond, let alone understand what they were saying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A time for rest</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Getting to the albergue at 4pm instead of the usual 8pm was a welcome change - it's nice to get your walking out of the way early in the day and have an entire evening to relax and recuperate I knew this would be a rare occurrence on the trip (especially since I most often wanted to push hard and press on), so I took advantage by going grocery shopping early, reading my book, having two meals, and just lounging in bed. Tomorrow would be a harder day, so I took the time to rest when I could. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Promised Land and Industrial Wasteland, you were indeed what we were looking for. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Bilbao, Biscay, Spain43.2566901 -2.924061599999959143.2104381 -3.0047425999999593 43.3029421 -2.8433805999999588tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-53068497323193519562013-08-10T11:43:00.000-04:002013-09-13T17:22:29.022-04:00Camino gear<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When starting on a long hike or trip, chances are one of the first things you do is decide what gear you need. Clearly, because if you don't have something that means you get to go gear shopping! </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here is a comprehensive lost of everything I have in my backpack (will organize this better soon):</span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Leatherman</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Kindle</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Compass</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Small stuffsack (empty)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sunglasses</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Emergency 50 euro bill</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tape (for feet and blisters)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Headlamp</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Small Ziploc with passport and <i>credencial</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">iPad</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Moleskin medium notebook (unruled)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tent (Big Agnes UL3 with it's ground tarp)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rain shell jacket</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rain pants</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">First aid kit</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">roll of toilet paper,</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">moleskin,</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">tweezers</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">bandaids of all shapes and sizes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">athletic wrap</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">gauze</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">alcohol wipes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">tampons</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">bottle of Advil</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a few pills for anti-diarrhea and anti-fever</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">neosporin</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Aquamira water drops</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ziploc with lighter and water-resistant camping matches</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">mini roll of duct tape</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hat (the Grand Canyon hat!)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Plastic grocery bag holding my share of group food for lunch or breakfast to carry</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Medium stuffsack: </span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sleeping shirt (my green MITOC shirt)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Athletic shorts (double as pajamas)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Camp towel, just barely large enough to.cover the important bits</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 spare pairs synthetic underwear</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 spare pair liner socks</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 spare pairs wool socks</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beanie</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Liner gloves</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Swimming shorts</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Light fleece</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Drawstring plastic bag:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 pair clean cotton underwear</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 clean cotton shirt</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 clean cotton bra</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Toiletries pouch:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Toothbrush </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Toothpaste</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Deodorant</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Extra hair ties</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hair brush</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Travel pack of floss</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nail file</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Travel size shampoo bottle</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Electric-taped uber-converter (European wall outlet to US 3-appliance plug)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Micro USB wall charger (with detachable USB to micro USB cable)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">USB to iPad cable</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Single Europe to US outlet converter</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">US wall outlet to double USB charger</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Spanish phone charger (European outlet to mini USB)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 spare plastic grocery bags</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sleeping pad (held on by 2 compression straps)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 1-liter nalgenes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ziploc with a 3-day supply of day and night sanitary pads</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ziploc with 3-day emergency supply of Clif bars and Larabars</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Small Camino book with maps and towns</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Small Camino pamphlet with list of albergues </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Metal fork</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sleep eye cover</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Three giant spare Ziplocs</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pen</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whistle</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bandana</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Teva sandals</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Climbing-rated non-locking carabiner</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pack cover</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And on my person:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Trail runners</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Liner socks</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wool socks</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hiking pants</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Synthetic underwear</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sports bra</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Red MITOC shirt</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Watch</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">MIT brass rat</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hair tie</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Spanish cell phone</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">About 3 granola bars</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ziploc with American cell phone</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Card case with American driver's license, money, cards, passport photocopy</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hiking poles</span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In retrospect, I packed well. The entire pack with water weighs about 30 pounds. Any more weight would be really hard on the knees. A few seasoned travelers will note some obvious pieces of gear missing, but I can explain each one of my choices. Here goes:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunblock - Kayla and Leah both have large tubes of sunblock, 55 SPF (and the kind that's good for your skin, mom!)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bathing suit - my bathing shorts and sports bra (or topless, it is Europe after all) works just fine</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bug spray - this one I am lacking. But sleeping indoors or in the tent solves 95% of that bug problem </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Soap - why also carry soap when extra shampoo suds work just fine?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Clothesline and drain plug - again, these are lacking, but the plan was to be in albergues enough to render these unnecessary. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Headphones - hiking through the Spanish countryside is a privilege and listening to music or podcasts would just ruin it. And for entertainment, the Kindle is perfect.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nail clippers 0 that's what the scissors on the Leatherman are for!</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<b>What is the most useless item in my pack that weighs the most? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The iPad, by far. I can do everything I need to do from my wifi-capable phone, so not only is the iPad redundant with an inferior interface, it also weighs a lot together with it's associated cables.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>What has been the most useful item?</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The scissors on the Leatherman. They are a nail cutter, a bang cutter, useful for cutting my medical tape, and for opening any food container that requires precision. I use them every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Anything else?</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When packing for the Camino, remember that it might rain. My system includes three separate pieces for rain - my rain pants, a shell, and a pack cover. I stay perfectly dry, as does all my stuff, but the main problem is that I get too sweaty sometimes, since there is no ventilation. Other peregrinos solve this problem by using a rain poncho, since the temperature in northern Spain is rarely cold enough when coupled with rain to warrant a full rain suit. Pro tip for next time, use a rain poncho. It also weighs less and it covers the pack too.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-81862487834456916822013-08-10T03:05:00.000-04:002013-09-16T03:14:32.521-04:00Food games<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you buy food to share in bulk, there is always food left over. We found our way to this albergue:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JfV6DPSkRe8/UiUFzAgcIiI/AAAAAAAADLg/mvdlzvRnbYc/s1600/0810131748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JfV6DPSkRe8/UiUFzAgcIiI/AAAAAAAADLg/mvdlzvRnbYc/s320/0810131748.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">after the (infamous) town of Guernika-Lumo:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yP9zepEOlD8/UiUFzJGN_TI/AAAAAAAADLg/gXN7d5eqC78/s1600/0810131225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yP9zepEOlD8/UiUFzJGN_TI/AAAAAAAADLg/gXN7d5eqC78/s320/0810131225.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21tubOPtujY/UiUFzNi1Z-I/AAAAAAAADLg/2FjZl-948nA/s1600/0810131520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21tubOPtujY/UiUFzNi1Z-I/AAAAAAAADLg/2FjZl-948nA/s320/0810131520.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">loaded with groceries for dinner and tired from a solid 3km uphill climb. One of those things happened to be canned marinated red peppers (wasn't my turn to buy groceries this time). How many red peppers do you think you can eat in one sitting? Even with the baguette, cheese, ham, and cookies, we couldn't get through more than two pieces each. But the bottle was glass and filled with liquid - it was in our best interest to get rid of it because carrying it would be too heavy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So naturally, we came up with a game. You pass the jar of peppers, and when it gets to you, you either need to tell a funny story or eat a pepper. Even when you can't eat any more peppers, it's hard to come up with a funny story to tell on the spot...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com048115 Eskerika, Biscay, Spain43.2929764 -2.748212599999988-2.1431050999999997 -85.365400099999988 88.7290579 79.868974900000012tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-31752602683615035262013-08-08T17:21:00.000-04:002013-09-16T02:48:42.905-04:00When you don't follow the yellow brick road<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And by "yellow brick road" I mean "yellow arrows" of course. There are times when following the yellow arrows I felt like we were in the <i>Wizard of Oz</i> - and if we had to assign characters, Kayla is Dorothy, Leah is the Tin Man, and I am the Scarecrow. The <i>Wizard of Oz</i> sets the scene for a perfect place of adventure. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it's not always perfect. When you realize you're lost, you feel a heavy weight in your stomach slowly sinking. When you realize you're lost, you're responsible for the group, and you've lost the other members of your group who neither speak the language nor have a cell phone, the heavy weight becomes a sinking cannonball that drops immediately to the floor. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
That's basically how I felt the (first) time we got lost on the trail. As it happened, we got a free book at the albergue in San Sebastián that gave us some information about the stages for each day of the walk, but I wouldn't call them "maps" per se. (You can check it out for yourself, since we discovered two days before the end of our trip that there's a <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&ved=0CDAQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Ftourism.euskadi.net%2Fcontenidos%2Finformacion%2Fx65_folletos%2Fen_x65%2Ffolletos%2F2011%2Fsantiago%2FCaminos%2520del%2520Norte%2520INGLES.pdf&ei=LuQlUviQLIm27Qak6YDYBw&usg=AFQjCNE2XUhUUKMbTMYwyhJ-ILpQ1x9hAQ&sig2=j0sXvCYYwYldB8AST8aaVg&bvm=bv.51495398,d.ZGU">free PDF version as well</a>.) With this book, we knew approximate distances between towns, approximately where the next albergue was, approximately where the next supermarket was. As a "trail guide" it was practically useless - it didn't tell us which turns we needed to take, which sections of trail were confusing, and when the trail intersected with other trail sections. Good thing the trail was always marked with yellow arrows like this: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mPcteMMOyqQ/UiUJ6ASFivI/AAAAAAAADMA/UuxCgwPHrTA/s1600/0809131122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mPcteMMOyqQ/UiUJ6ASFivI/AAAAAAAADMA/UuxCgwPHrTA/s320/0809131122.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
Leah and I both had Spanish cell phones (Leah's even had 3G connection most of the time), but Kayla did not. I have a good knowledge of conversational Spanish, Leah knows a few words, and Kayla doesn't know much at all. I walk the fastest, with Leah in second and Kayla being the slowest. I'm sure you're already getting an idea for a possible failure mode. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
After lunch (menu del día of course) in Deba we agreed that we'd walk and most likely not make it to the next albergue (all the way in Markina, 18km away, definitely a stretch goal), so we'd sleep in the tent tonight. Because for the last few days we'd noticed that we split up when we walk that I (as the walker in front) would stop every 1.5-hours-ish and wait for Leah and Kayla to catch up, to make sure we all stopped together at a reasonable time. This plan was foolproof. </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>4pm</i>: Set out together from our last regrouping.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>5pm</i>: Leah and I were walking together. We had found some trees with shade and a good place to sit, so we stop to eat a granola bar and keep discussing whatever we had been discussing before.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>5:30pm</i>: Time-check, no Kayla. "We've walked an hour and waited half an hour. Something must be up. Let's wait another 15 minutes and re-evaluate."</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>6pm</i>: Start asking everyone we see on the trail if they've seen Kayla. Walk back and forth along the trail and ask the few local farmers along the way if they have seen Kayla. Run briefly along almost all possible side trails to see if maybe she went the wrong way. Fail. Walk all the way back to the last place we had seen her at 4pm. No Kayla. Fail.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
At this point there are all kinds of things running through our minds - could she have turned around back to the town? Could she have gotten a ride from a biker somewhere? Could she have snuck off to pee in the woods and failed to get back on the trail? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
In either case, we thought that if something would happen, Kayla would call us - there were enough people on the trail (and even off the trail - there were always workers in the fields and orchards everywhere we walked through) that she could ask to use someone's phone and call one of me or Leah. We hadn't heard anything, so we started to assume the worst. </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>6:30pm</i>: Sit and ponder our failure. Have a conversation with a few lost bikers about where exactly the Camino is. Send them off with a message that if they see a single female hiker in a blue shirt and a red backpack that she should call us.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>6:32pm</i>: Realize we're idiots. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
This whole time, we had not been sitting along the Camino! I quickly realized why we were confused - there is a parallel trail that runs through the Basque Country marked by red-white blazes rather than yellow arrows. At one point on the trail, there was this cryptic sign: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EwGy2w24SWvDq99tAo1uRVgLQzKXj86KlgQp4pC8dLZpPMNf-VI7YQa9-zcXztCGSIi7CeczCqbd7DuXxX51CUu3HBBPg7hbX_FtBFi-H-QrVA0UFNW7nz231_txiIunC-r-y_JeMaFq/s1600/camino_paper_sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EwGy2w24SWvDq99tAo1uRVgLQzKXj86KlgQp4pC8dLZpPMNf-VI7YQa9-zcXztCGSIi7CeczCqbd7DuXxX51CUu3HBBPg7hbX_FtBFi-H-QrVA0UFNW7nz231_txiIunC-r-y_JeMaFq/s320/camino_paper_sign.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
that we had completely missed in the midst of our discussion. The yellow arrows in this section had been painted black, including the ones on the trail, so they blended into the rocks and the trail they were painted over. Thing to note for the future: don't assume you can always see the trail. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIZ4U0_cpZ8I3soLJwb0TqL-lgLjR5r31znaxfgLX3vfADTIJ05E-fG7lQKw13WrKoV5_JPqZE8708fTfxsIbwcTZtx9BEHX1dM7n7eHsJEqQhSIZu19d2VMNS04zooAeOFaTdvbKcalz/s1600/camino_paper_sign_michele_sad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIZ4U0_cpZ8I3soLJwb0TqL-lgLjR5r31znaxfgLX3vfADTIJ05E-fG7lQKw13WrKoV5_JPqZE8708fTfxsIbwcTZtx9BEHX1dM7n7eHsJEqQhSIZu19d2VMNS04zooAeOFaTdvbKcalz/s320/camino_paper_sign_michele_sad.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
We started again at this sign marker, going the right way this time. Kayla had gotten a head start on us by almost 2 hours, and there was no way we could walk at our normal speed and catch up to her. At this point, we still had two options: (1) the more likely one that Kayla was ahead of us and we should keep walking, and (2) she turned around and went back to the town. </span><br />
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In short, we bolted our way to Olatz, the next town, in hopes that Kayla would have either stopped there or at least walked through there. I use the word "town" too loosely here - the cluster of houses surrounding a small church were home to maybe 50 people. Walking through the center, we were offered to pitch our tent on the church lawn and sleep there for the night (it was 7:15pm, a bit too early for us to stop without walking further, but we considered it, given that there was a cluster of people here). We asked everyone we saw in Olatz whether they had seen Kayla, but nobody had. This didn't help us - there were too many variables. Had she not passed by? Had she passed by too long ago? Did the locals not understand that I was looking for a girl walking alone wearing a blue shirt and a big red backpack? </span><br />
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In this same stretch, a few elderly Basque men and women on an evening stroll chatted with us in a mixture of English and Spanish, taught us a few Basque words that we promptly forgot, and gave us a flower for good luck in finding our friend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>7:30pm</i>. We run out of Olatz and into the neighboring woods. We walk up one of the longest uphill stretches we'd had to walk through up to that point, and Leah had a brilliant idea. KAAAAYLAAAAAAA she screams, and then I join her. We walk a few minutes, stop, and scream. Then all of a sudden we hear a whistle. Leah dismisses it as a bird, but I think it must be man-made. We scream again, to be greeted by the return sound of the whistle. We run, turn the corner, and find Kayla, all of us shouting the happiest screams we'd heard all day and collapsing into a large group hug. </span></blockquote>
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Turns out, Kayla had stood by the piece-of-paper sign that Leah and I had missed for a while until another peregrino explained the story with the black paint: a few locals don't like peregrinos walking near their property, so they've engaged in a temporary signage war with the Association of St. James (the ones who maintain the yellow arrows) by painting over all their signs with black. For that one small stretch, what you have to do is follow the black arrows until the yellow ones reappear. She had gotten insider info about this, and when she didn't see us at the appropriate time she just kept walking, thinking we were much faster than she was. When she passed the town, she decided that she was definitely ahead of us and kept walking on the lookout for a good place to camp that night. </span><br />
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The bikers we had seen hours ago had caught up with Kayla not too long after Olatz, and she instead of calling had emailed me (not Leah, who had the data plan) saying that she was ahead of us and would meet us on the trail. Of course, we didn't get this because I had no way of checking my email. By the time we had caught up to her, she had recently finished the long uphill climb and found a spot in the woods where we could pitch our tent (and hammock) for the night. </span><br />
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After a stressful afternoon of thinking I had lost my friends in rural Spain, we ate our grocery store lunch we'd bought earlier that day, pitched our tent in the middle of the forest, and went to sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">lessons learned</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From this experience, I personally learned a few lessons I will always take with me when planning trips: </span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Make sure the expectations among group members are made explicit. Who is responsible for setting the plan for the day? Who is responsible for the group?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If I am ever to be responsible for a group of people, there must be the requirement that everyone has a cell phone or everyone is in a group that always has a cell phone. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Set a contingency "all else fails" plan - we had not done that. Leah and I had assumed that Kayla would call us if she was lost, but we had never all explicitly discussed this. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Make sure all group members carry contingency supplies. Thank god we did this - we all had water, food, and shelter on us. This is a basic rule of backpacking, but it's important to be reminded of this once again. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All members must carry a map of some kind. From this point forward, Kayla and Leah both took pictures of the book's pages with their phones for the day, in case we got split up. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was not a negative experience, and in retrospect there wasn't much that could actually go wrong. But every story gives you a lesson about group dynamics and group experience. Throughout this episode, I felt like I was responsible for the well-being of the group - of course, it was my idea to do the Camino in the first place. I was the one who spoke Spanish, I was the one who had the original copy of the map, I was the one making decisions. I learned that when I am responsible, I want a set of safety mechanisms in place, and now I know. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Markina-Xemein, Biscay, Spain43.2730401 -2.50989140000001543.180530100000006 -2.6712529000000149 43.3655501 -2.348529900000015tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-35042428652467306152013-08-08T02:56:00.000-04:002013-09-16T03:05:45.791-04:00Where to camp?<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today again we camped - the second night in a row. Except this time was the most difficult terrain I've had to place a tent in before. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Past the town of Markina the terrain was very wooded and unpopulated - we had heard this from our guidebook and other <i>peregrinos</i>, so we made sure to buy enough food for dinner and breakfast. Out of Markina after our menu del día and a 3-hour nap, we only started out from town at 3pm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That means that after the small hamlet of Aldaka, we stopped at the top of a hill to find a place to camp. We didn't feel comfortable pitching a tent and hammock in the middle of the hamlet, so we walked into the woods. What we realized quickly was that there were a number of small prickly branches <i>everywhere</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Exhausted and running up against dark, we decided to pitch our tent amidst a field of prickers about 0.5 km into the woods after clearing out a small area. The only "flat" spot we could find was a slope of about 10% grade, resulting in Leah and I sliding slightly in our sleeping bags at night into each other and the tent wall. (Kayla woke up the next morning completely content in her hammock setup, and we were a little jealous). At least it didn't rain this time. However, my hypothesis about waking up with the sun at 7am was foiled once again, since we were sleeping in thick wooded brush...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The facepalm of it all was that when we emerged from the woods to eat our breakfast in the morning (narrowly missing hitting our heads on the branch at chest-level outside the tent door) was the group of hikers who walked by telling us that they had pitched tents in the town square in Aldaka and taken showers in the town hall. Go figure - from now we knew that we should always ask about pitching tents in public places for the possibility of a shower. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-18633711661835024452013-08-07T02:32:00.000-04:002013-09-12T02:33:30.992-04:00Swimming, for the first time<div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Rain, Rain, Go Away</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our luck of course meant that the first 3 days of our trip were rained. The climate in northern Spain is very similar to the climate in the northeast, rain included. We tested various combinations of rain gear (or no rain gear) on the first few days of the walk. For me, the best combination of rain gear turns out to be full rain cover for anything more than a drizzle. For Leah and Kayla, it's soak time unless it's truly pouring. Despite all that, the views were still spectacular. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But we were a bit sad because of the rain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Items forgotten</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, in the first days of a trip is when you realize what you've forgotten and regret any excesses you have brought. For us, we quickly learned that I was glad I had rain gear (my pack cover, shell jacket, and shell pants made me and my stuff orders of magnitude drier than Leah and Kayla's stuff). Leah also quickly realized that a camp towel is better than an extra shirt... As Arthur Dent always says, never forget your towel. Leah has her own story for how she lost her utensils going through airport security, but I'll save that for another time. I'll do a more complete post about gear items later on, but the most useless item for me so far: spare cotton t-shirt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Chocolate cereal: you can go more than 30km!</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our next day was the farthest we'd have a chance to go in a while - for reference, we went from San Sebastián to Zumaia, which was a total distance of 32km. For breakfasts what we would do is get groceries at a supermarket the night before or the morning of (most likely the night before, along with getting the meals for the next day) and eat together before setting off for the day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What we quickly realized was that if we weren't going to be carrying our breakfast, we can be a bit more elaborate than bread and jam. So the day out of San Sebastián, we tried milk and cereal. Since I picked it out, it was of course chocolate cereal. This was the start of the hypothesis: if you eat chocolate cereal with milk for breakfast, you can walk more than 30 km in a day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Meals: menu del día</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What many people don't know is that the biggest and most important meal of the day for Spaniards (in all parts of the country) is lunch. Many restaurants (and often bars too) offer a "daily special" menu called <i>menu del día</i>. For the meager price of 8 to 12 euros, you get a starter (often soup, stew, salad, or pasta), a main course (fish, pork chops, chicken breast, steak, or any number of other local favorites), desert and/or coffee, water, and wine (or cider if you're in a province that specializes in cider). (Note: when they say wine, they don't joke around. They put a bottle on the table in front of you and you pour however much you want for lunch. What a great country.). The first time we had a menu del día for lunch was in the small town of Orio (pronounced just like "oreo", the cookie), about 15km from San Sebastián. It's quite amazing to eat a full meal for lunch, take a quick hour-long break, and keep walking another 15km at the end of the day. Unfortunately, we could not find an open grocery store in Orio, so we didn't have oreos in Orio. We did buy a pack of victory oreos a few towns later, just to say we did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We would use the menu del día option to our advantage at many later points in time during our trip, since it's a great way to get lots of cheap, good local food at a time when you're really hungry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Swimming - of course Leah and Kayla are crazy</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you've ever gone hiking or adventuring with Kayla, you know that she loves swimming. And Leah is up for anything, so when we were walking literally along the ocean for many kilometers, the idea of course comes up to swim. I'm personally not a huge fan of swimming in cold water (especially when the sun is hiding because of imminent rain), but right outside of Zarautz we walked by a few young boys (clearly local) jumping off the railing next to the sidewalk right into the water. So Leah and Kayla decided to just go for it. Sorry guys for posting the pictures, I had to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is before the jumps happened, with Leah and Kayla in their underclothes, contemplating jumping in. Yes, that is the police right behind them, having just walked by and being OK with our display of lack-of-clothing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Things to bring if you are a light sleeper: earplugs.</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am not a light sleeper and I hate earplugs, so I did not. This night was the only night I really regretted my decision. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whenever you sleep in an albergue, you are basically sleeping in the same room as 20 other people. There is guaranteed to be someone snoring all night. This night in Zumaia, other than being the best albergue we ever stayed at because it had free wifi and an ice cream place right next door, was the worst for noise. Although we were only sleeping 6 to a room, there was one young man who's snore basically caused the house to shake. The rumble would be so loud that it was hard to fall asleep until I hit the point of exhaustion, and when he turned over the brief minute of lack-of-snoring was not enough to get used to the thunder that followed. Thankfully, this Czech young man left very early in the morning and we were able to get a few hours of precious sleep between when he left and when we got up. Needless to say, the next day we were all a bit on edge for not having slept well the night before. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com020750 Zumaia, Gipuzkoa, Spain43.297359 -2.258383999999978243.2858025 -2.278553999999978 43.3089155 -2.2382139999999784tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-63936281810932489232013-08-06T12:44:00.000-04:002013-09-03T12:46:59.835-04:00A picturesque start<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Day 1: Irún-ish to San Sebastián-Donostia (27 km)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We managed to find Leah in the train station in Irún after going grocery shopping. Kayla and I had a pretty awesome camp setup, being able to charge ALL THE ELECTRONICS. Unfortunately, no internet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the "fearless leader" phenomenon</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Since my failed attempt at finding a map or a guidebook in Irún, we knew that the next town over was San Sebastián. To be fair, the only way we knew this was because I had walked this path last year, but we knew it nonetheless. So we decided to postpone the problem of maps / guidebooks until we got to San Sebastián. The only time this proved a problem was when we first started, since we didn't actually know where the Camino was! Good thing I spoke Spanish, since after some conversations with a few pilgrims also heading out from Irún, we discovered the magic of the yellow arrows that would lead us all the way to Santiago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As a result of my willingness to push on without map or guide and my ability to speak Spanish and get us un-lost, Leah and Kayla dubbed me the "fearless leader" of our group. That's a heck of a lot of responsibility for a group of size 3, but no matter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first day in the Basque Country</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We spent the first night in a tent at a "fake albergue" (i.e. an albergue not run by the Order of St. James) about 3km from Irún proper, and were lucky enough to be able to take a shower. But what we quickly realized was that we were very lucky to bring along rain gear. We woke up to find the tent, ground, and our shoes completely soaked. What a great start to a 27-day hike - completely wet shoes. At least we tested the rainproofness of my tent and it held! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We got an incredibly late start, around 11am, and walked along one of the most gorgeous sections of the Camino del Norte. The ocean is on your right, the mountains on your left. And the gorgeous village you pass through on your way to San Sebastián just speaks of the idyllic life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This part of Spain is a region known as the Basque Country, where the regional language is Euskadi (or <i>euskara</i> in English and Spanish), and the region is best-known for wanting to declare regional independence from Spain (and the famous terrorist organization ETA that supports this cause). Euskadi, to someone who speaks Spanish or English, is completely unintelligible, since the language is actually not related to any currently-spoken language. Historians and linguists think the most closely-related language is actually Georgian. They use the Roman alphabet to write their words, so about the only thing you can do with a Basque sign is read it out loud and be promptly confused. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Basque Country is not only just part of Spain - it encompasses a small part of southeastern France as well: </span><br />
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<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a2/Basque_Country_Location_Map.svg/397px-Basque_Country_Location_Map.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a2/Basque_Country_Location_Map.svg/397px-Basque_Country_Location_Map.svg.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the posters all over the small towns in the region constantly remind you that they are their own autonomous region.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7gs3rAc-YI8/UiUFzDWKMSI/AAAAAAAADLg/6G2BmNUN4-Q/s1600/0806131413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7gs3rAc-YI8/UiUFzDWKMSI/AAAAAAAADLg/6G2BmNUN4-Q/s320/0806131413.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We weren't able to learn too many words in Euskara, since most people spoke Spanish and my Spanish was good enough to get us by. But we did learn these two very useful words: </span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hi/ bye -- <i>agul</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">thank you -- <i>eskeri kasko</i></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, having your own language means that all the city names we know from Spanish have a corresponding Basque name. For San Sebastián, this happens to be Donostia. This was not a problem for us, since most signs have both the Spanish and Basque names - it's just an interesting regional fact that is sometimes critically relevant.</span></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">San Sebastián-Donostia</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We got to San Sebastián around dinner time (of course starving because we hadn't planned ahead and actually had no idea how long we had to walk this day) and had a great dinner in the <i>Casco Viejo </i>(Old City). Here is where my language-translation abilities for Spanish food words was lacking - I had no idea what <i>pechuga</i> meant. I thought it was "fish" but turns out it's actually "breast" as in "chicken breast." Sorry Kayla. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After deciding against the beach (rain looked imminent), we were led to the albergue in San Sebastián by a lovely elderly lady who saw that we were pilgrims, and there we were given a free book (I'd call it a pamphlet) that describes the various stages and albergues we can stay at over the course of the Camino. At the albergue, we met some interesting folks who were also doing the Camino, including an American ex-soldier who was taking time off before going back to Oregon for grad school, a family with a 5-year-old boy, and a few older Spaniards doing the Camino for religious reasons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were feeling good today, since this was our first day and we'd seemingly accomplished the impossible: we'd made it 27 km to another city without a map and without knowing whether we'd have a roof over our heads that night. In high spirits, we went to bed content with a great start. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0San Sebastián, Gipuzkoa, Spain43.318334 -1.981231299999990443.2721155 -2.0619122999999906 43.3645525 -1.9005502999999904tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-60711786863803946272013-08-06T11:36:00.000-04:002013-09-03T11:39:28.145-04:00The story behind the Camino<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before I go into details about the various stages of our hike, I think I should give a brief overview of what the Camino de Santiago actually is. In short, it's a "walk" across northern Spain that nominally starts anywhere and ends in the town of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia (the regional language they speak there is called <i>Gallego</i>). There are a number of established routes that people follow: </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.santiago-compostela.net/CaminoMapNorth.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="103" src="http://www.santiago-compostela.net/CaminoMapNorth.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As you can see, they are varied from where they start and where they go. But all routes on the Camino lead to Santiago de Compostela. Each route has it's own character, it's own quirks, it's own personality, and of course it's own people. </span><br />
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our route</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The route that we did was the Camino del Norte and the Camino Primitivo, if you can find those on the map above. (We did not end up doing the entirety of both routes - we went from Irún to Santander on the Norte and then bused to Oviedo to do the entire Primitivo). The route we chose took us about 600 km from start to finish, and we completed it in 24 days of walking (with a rest day or two, making the trip a total of 27 days). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A bit of history</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The "first" "original" Camino was the Camino Francés, that goes through the Spanish <i>meseta</i>, starting in St. Jean Pied-du-Port in France and ending, of course, in Santiago de Compostela. The term "Camino de Santiago" has an interesting translation in English: "The Way of St. James". <i>Camino</i> in Spanish actually means "walk", but using the word "Way" is an interesting interpretation of the roots and purpose of the Camino (I will explain soon). <i>Iago</i> is the Portuguese / Gallego way of saying "James", so the <i>Camino de Santiago</i> is said in English as the <i>Way of St. James</i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">St. James, as any good Christian (read: not me) knows, is thought to have spent many years preaching in Spain. Some versions of legend tell that his remains were brought back to the Iberian peninsula from Jerusalem after he was martyred there, and that his remains are now buried underneath the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela. Of course, there has never been any definitive proof that his remains are actually in the crypt below the cathedral, but that's not very relevant to the fact that St. James's remains remain (zing!) a major Christian pilgrimage sight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Legend also says that his remains were brought to their current sight around the year 44 AD, but were lost to the strands of time. At some point in the early 9th century, a Galician shepherd saw shooting stars coming down to the site of St. James's grave, and as a result the precursor to the current Cathedral at Santiago de Compostela was built. This smaller church was destroyed by the Moors in their conquests across Spain, but in 1075 a new, grander cathedral was built, and continues to stand (with some modifications over time) to the present day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The presence of the cathedral made the pilgrimage to see the remains of St. James even more important, with the number of pilgrims steadily growing over the course of thousands of years since the 9th century. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Traditionally, pilgrims traveled the <i>Camino Francés</i>, known in English as <i>The French Way</i>, starting in St. Jean Pied-du-Port, right on the border of France and Spain. Pilgrims in the old days would wait sometimes for months in St. Jean Pied-du-Port to gather a group of pilgrims large enough to travel the Way, since in those days there were many marauding bands, and groups of pilgrims were likely to get attacked. These groups of pilgrims would travel for months, sometimes years, since they were often poor, and had to stop in villages and towns along the Way to work a bit and get money for the next leg of their journey. Often, they would make it to Santiago de Compostela, and having spent their fortunes and a ton of time getting there, just stayed. As a result, there is a large thriving university scene in Santiago de Compostela, and the national composition of Santiago de Compostela has a large percentage of people of French and German descent, as well as traditional Galician. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nowadays, travel is of course much easier with the advent of trains and buses and planes, but the entire pilgrimage still takes about 5 weeks to complete along the Camino Francés. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The other routes (including the <i>Camino del Norte</i> (<i>The Northern Way</i>) and the <i>Camino Primitivo</i> (<i>The Primitive or Original Way</i>)) were established as alternate pilgrimage routes in the early 1200s.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Along all the routes of the way, there are a number of holy sites, relics, churches, monuments, monasteries, and other Christian articles to see. Nowadays, many people do not do the Camino for religious reasons so don't stop to pray at each of the Christian relics, but it is always important to remember the roots of the Camino as a traditional religious pilgrimage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The shell</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The shell (or the <i>concha </i>in Spanish) has become a symbol of the Way. For pilgrims it was a practical implement - a bowl, a water-scooper, a shovel. But it also is a metaphor for the routes that all lead to Santiago de Compostela, like the lines on the shell itself. Legend has it that St. James's remains, when they were on a boat transiting to the Iberian peninsula, were lost at sea. They then washed up on the shore in Galicia unharmed, covered in shells. Pilgrims also carry the shell so that in case they die on the Camino (which was not all that uncommon with marauders and when hygienic conditions were not so good in the beginning of the millennium), they would be buried with the shell and thus be protected by St. James, finishing their pilgrimage in the other life. Many (myself included) just think that carrying a shell comes from wanting to take back a souvenir from walking so far :-). I did not succumb to getting a shell (though I did get a small shell pin for my mom's pin collection), but Kayla went all-out and carried a shell. </span></div>
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQcYDMOhpzBS-WaCLRyF9IYobVUVpR7dYhzESG4Qtut-4Bcvmgblg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQcYDMOhpzBS-WaCLRyF9IYobVUVpR7dYhzESG4Qtut-4Bcvmgblg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blazes</span></h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The Way is well-marked, seeing as thousands (if not tens of thousands) of pilgrims pass there every month. The trails are marked by shells, in some form or another. Each province in Spain is responsible for maintaining their own section of trail, and the shells are also supplemented by yellow arrows (the <i>fletchas amarillas</i>) along the entire route. This fact was problematic once or twice, but I'm getting ahead of myself. More on those stories later. </span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pPJ3ikDhj-0/UiUJ6A6hftI/AAAAAAAADMA/Ya9uZKtDu-w/s1600/0810131214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pPJ3ikDhj-0/UiUJ6A6hftI/AAAAAAAADMA/Ya9uZKtDu-w/s320/0810131214.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lodging (</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">albergues</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">) and being "official" (having a <i>credencial</i>)</span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because the Camino became such a popular thing to do in the 13th century, a number of establishments (starting with the ones run by the Order of St. James, a society that exists to help pilgrims) sprang up to lodge and feed the pilgrims. About every 10-15km or so on the Camino del Norte and the Camino Primitivo (about every 5km on the Camino Francés) there are hostel-like sleeping quarters known as <i>albergues</i>, which are either super cheap or on a donation-basis that allow official pilgrims to sleep there. The <i>albergues</i> range from a hotel-like atmosphere where you can also get breakfast to essentially a floor where you can set our a sleeping mat and bag to sleep in. In either case, a shower and a roof over your head are often appreciated at the end of a day's walk.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9EbkmZoRZw/UiOtKKk-urI/AAAAAAAABzU/OfRYxqd9yzs/s1600/0824131633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9EbkmZoRZw/UiOtKKk-urI/AAAAAAAABzU/OfRYxqd9yzs/s320/0824131633.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To be an official pilgrim, you have to have a </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">credencial</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> that you get from an official Order of St. James <i>albergue</i>. At each <i>albergue</i> you stay at (and sometimes at various churches or restaurants along the way), you get a stamp that shows you passed through that town. In Santiago, you show your <i>credencial</i> at the pilgrim's office near the cathedral and get a certificate of completion if you've walked more than 100km. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Spain40.463667000000008 -3.749220000000036614.545170500000008 -45.057814000000036 66.3821635 37.559373999999963tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-33450327120735578492013-08-05T13:06:00.001-04:002013-08-05T13:06:24.309-04:00Irún<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sleeping at the airport</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of all airports to sleep in, Terminal 1 at Barcelona Prat is not bad. Except when you lay out your sleeping pad, cover yourself with a fleece, and curl up next to your backpack with hiking poles. Then it looks like you planned it out and you get woken up at 4am. Ask me how I know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My flight got into Barcelona from Schipol at around midnight (thanks, Spaniard time) and I went straight to the luggage storage after changing into my hiking clothes - I mean my new set of clothes for the next month. The hilarious part, in typical Spanish style, is that you need to keep the one copy of the luggage ticket that gets given to you when you store your bag. The one copy with a barcode that opens your locker that is printed on receipt-quality paper. What the heck am I going to do with a receipt that I need to keep intact for a month? The answer - put it inside your passport, since your passport is definitely in a sealed ziplock in a safe compartment of your backpack somewhere. The long-term baggage storage in Barcelona is not a bad deal. For my large blue hiking backpack (rounghly 30cm by 40cm by 90cm) it costs about €5.10 per day. You pay for one day when you deposit and the rest when you return your bag. The only catch is that (1) the baggage storage is only in Terminal 1, the most out-of-the-way terminal possible and (2) the payment is only taken in the form of €20, €10, €5 bills or any kinds of coins. Hello, change. Ah, well. I´m sure there will be a great story for how I carry €100 in coins at some later date. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In any case, finding Kayla was easy - just look for the other MITOC shirt!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There aren´t actually any trains in Spain</span></h3>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Or, the exact ones that Kayla and I wanted happened to be sold out, and we weren´t going to pay €100 each for a first-class train ticket. So we happened to be right next to a bus line that went to San Sebastián not exactly Irún, but since it´s walkable there must be some kind of local train service there. The views out the window in the north were quite inspiring, and definitely something I am looking forward to for the next few weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(and artsy of course)</span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">foooood</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We are starting our regimen of cheese, jamón, and bread for lunch and dinner when we can. We tried an experiment and are supplementing our lunch and dinner with things like canned vegetables, canned pineapple, tomatoes, and the occasional yogurt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The plan tonight is to camp on the trail itself and head to San Sebastián tomorrow morning, hopefully to get a menú del día for lunch and get our bearings. We ran into an albergue (the only one in Irún I think - I´ll cross-check later when I have more time for internet) and are sitting in an internet cafe while waiting for Leah to arrive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">who needs maps</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I asked the hospitaliero (called so because he is the owner and volunteer at the albergue) about where to buy maps, he laughed at me and told me to follow the blazes. The entire Camino de Santiago del Norte is blazed with these markers: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTaMwt27LIx2K1EQn__ezMDzC9-jehIBd0RSTF3CN0fnrDDIOgGDA" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTaMwt27LIx2K1EQn__ezMDzC9-jehIBd0RSTF3CN0fnrDDIOgGDA" /></a></div>
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so it shouldn´t be too hard to find. Maybe when we´re in San Sebastián we´ll try to get maps, but hopefully we won´t need them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tonight we´ll camp along the trailhead, eat our dinner and drink our beer, and have a buen camino tomorrow morning.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Irún, Guipúzcoa, España43.3396649 -1.791887999999971743.2934664 -1.8725689999999717 43.385863400000005 -1.7112069999999717tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-526182741999357582013-08-04T15:12:00.002-04:002013-08-04T15:13:20.009-04:00The start of the Camino: day -2<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've been a bad blogger for the majority of this summer but that's because I have been busy with traveling and teaching and learning. I have blog drafts for all the adventures I've had and will slowly be filling them up as I have more time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today is the day I left Robin in Amsterdam to continue traveling with his dad to finally go back to Spain and do the Camino de Santiago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Camino de Santiago</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The origins of the hike itself are rooted - like many traditions of the modern age - in religion. It was the pilgrimage of St. James (James = Iago in Spanish...) from his doorstep to the church in Santiago de Compostela, in northwestern Spain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While I am not doing this hike for religious reasons, it's always good to understand some context for everything you do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The start</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am flying to Barcelona tonight (arriving around midnight), and the plan is to drop off most of my luggage in long-term storage at the airport, then find Kayla in Barcelona and make our way to Irún on the border with Spain and France in the north. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The plan</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The plan is to hike about 25km every day until September 2nd, and hopefully end up in Santiago de Compostela. We'll see how this actually works, but that's the tentative plan for now. I will have intermittent internet at all the towns along the way and will keep contact with the internet as often as I can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Enjoy, buena suerte, and hello from Amsterdam!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Schiphol Amsterdam Airport, Evert v/d Beekstraat 220, 1118 CP Schiphol, The Netherlands52.313025499999988 4.772476900000015152.235390499999987 4.6111154000000152 52.390660499999989 4.9338384000000151tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-30841531348764447082013-07-29T14:44:00.000-04:002013-09-12T14:49:32.188-04:00Tre giorni en Milano<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In mine and Robin's plans for our travels this summer, we decided we'd end up in Milan for three days and two nights. Robin took better pictures than I did of this part in our trip, so check out <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/26769928@N02/sets/72157634852681832/">his flickr set for artsy pictures of Milan</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sights to see</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Unfortunately, we were in Milan on a Sunday afternoon, Monday, and Tuesday morning. This meant that, like many respectable museums, many fantastic museums in Milan were closed on Monday. As a result, we did not get a chance to see the famous Triennale Design Museum or the La Scala Opera House Museum. However, we did get a chance to see: </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Duomo cathedral of Milan - you can climb on the roof! How many cathedrals can you climb on the roof of? It's a cool Gothic-style cathedral right in the center of town.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Galleria Vittorio Emanuelle II - a large covered "market", for lack of a better word. Cool designs to walk around through. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Castello Sforzesco - cool old castle with fantastic park grounds you can walk around in, often filled with live music</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Apparently to see <i>The Last Supper</i> you need to reserve your tickets months in advance, which we did not do. In either case, it costs on the order of 60 euros for 15 minutes of walking up to the fresco. I mean, it's famous art, but we couldn't justify 60 euros for 15 minutes worth of culture... it was probably too crowded anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Eat with the locals! </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While we were traveling, we made it a point to look up some particularly-recommended restaurants or eateries for cheap. One dinner in Milan we ended up with the most delicious dinner and wine we'd had in our entire stay in Italy. Unfortunately, I've seem to lost all record of it's address, so I'll never find it again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We walked from the apartment we were staying to a small eatery that we nearly missed when we walked by it - it was literally a hole in the wall. We walk in to see three tables and a single deli-counter with meats and cheeses. A pleasant woman behind the counter seated us, and we proceeded to discuss what we were going to eat in a mix of Spanish and Italian (I don't speak Italian, she doesn't speak English - Spanish is a good compromise). We got a mixed plate of cheeses and meats to try, along with infinite bread. You might think that dinner on cheese, bread, and meats is not satisfying, but the cheese (goat, milk, sheep) was so rich and thick that it, combined with the cured, marinated, and salted dried meats was more than enough to satisfy us for a dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We wanted to get some quality wine, too (since we didn't get to do any wine tasting while we were in Italy), so the woman spent some time explaining the 10 different kinds of wine that would go well with our meal. We settle, of course, on her favorite. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What we didn't realize she did was put the bottle of wine right next to our table during dinner, so we ended up drinking the entire bottle along with our collection of fantastic local meats and cheeses, making that bottle of wine the most expensive bottle of wine we'd ever bought and drank - around 20 euros. Maybe Robin remembers the kind of wine we got, because I sure don't. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Just don't get covered in dirt</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We found a place to stay from <a href="http://airbnb.com/">Airbnb</a> and really had only one option. Our search parameters included (1) an awesome host and (2) close to all the sights. Turns out, we chose exactly right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The room we rented was the spare bedroom of a Milan resident who lived exactly in the center of the city, maximum 20 minutes walk to all the central locations in Milan. Our host was Saeed, an Iranian man who was living in Milan studying industrial engineering and design in the polytechnic university in Milan. He was fun to talk to and gave us some amazing restaurant and bar suggestions. The apartment was on the second floor of a 3-story apartment building surrounding an inner courtyard. The spare room had two windows - one facing into the inner courtyard and the second facing out on the street. Because it was around 100 degrees Farenheit our first night in Milan, we opened all the windows and slept on top of the sheets, taking advantage of the cross-breeze. We were so tired from traveling the day before and being in the heat all day that we slept like logs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The second night was cooler, so it was pleasant to keep the windows open. But we forgot that we were (1) in the center of town and (2) that it was supposed to be garbage collecting day the next morning. The good part was that the window next to my side of the bed was a strand of ivy that meant that with the window open the neighbors couldn't peer into the room. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Around 5am, the wind picked up, flinging pieces of dirt across me and Robin from the hanging ivy below. No problem. Close the window, clear off the dirt, go back to sleep. Wrong! Around 6:30am the garbage collector and recycling trucks appeared. First came the glass container - CRASH, BOOM, DING. Silence. CRASH BOOM DING. Ok, no problem, 20 minutes later it stops and we go back to sleep. But then the worst way to be woken from sleep comes again - the garbage truck. The garbage containers holding organic waste were picked up by the truck, releasing the strongest, most intense odor of compost right below our window. The smell seeped through the closed window, attacking our noses with it's awful smell. At this point I start laughing hysterically at the various ways we'd been woken up that morning, so we had a good giggle while the garbage truck did it's thing and went back to sleep before breakfast. Just goes to show, you never know how you can get woken up in a foreign country. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com0Milan, Italy45.4654542 9.186515999999983345.287268200000007 8.8637924999999829 45.6436402 9.5092394999999836tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107077460278590610.post-34524909226867386362013-07-21T14:56:00.002-04:002013-07-21T14:56:08.962-04:00A trip to the Negev and the Dead Sea<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Negev</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Most of the instructors arrived at MEET and after a day of orientation were whisked off to the Negev for a retreat before the hectic of the summer started. The goal of the retreat was to get to know the instructors and staff at MEET that we'd be working so closely with all summer. It just so happened that we got to go into the Negev too! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Negev is in the south, south of the city of Beer Sheva. It sprawls for about 13,000 square kilometers, says Wikipedia, so there is a lot to see. We were aiming for the Mitzpe Ramon Crater, near the development town of Mitzpe Ramon. In the Negev, there are a few small villages, some kibbutzim, and a few Bedouin villages, but other than that, it is just a sprawling wasteland. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />I will only put a few choice pictures here, since the rest of them are on Flickr: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpratland/sets/72157634730392020/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/mpratland/sets/72157634730392020/</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoIJ2RNIFALIJcrViNj_8-SVNlirDw_WMn4ngvmwI8ME2CR1S-OZ2DqB5uU7khht_l7YfPEoRPLflPfxfVDI2xDyIlxBwgFmY1tytiHiYymO1pfsSSb-mjZ1v-fQsdN8QgZx43-nSH1Io/s1600/DSC_0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoIJ2RNIFALIJcrViNj_8-SVNlirDw_WMn4ngvmwI8ME2CR1S-OZ2DqB5uU7khht_l7YfPEoRPLflPfxfVDI2xDyIlxBwgFmY1tytiHiYymO1pfsSSb-mjZ1v-fQsdN8QgZx43-nSH1Io/s320/DSC_0029.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Noga arranged for us to be driven around the Negev with these Jeeps, including some short hiking, some off-roading, and some talks about the history and significance of the Negev.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The views into the Mitzpe Ramon crater were amazing - the Mitzpe Ramon is apparently one of the few "natural" craters in the world, not formed by a meteor. The way it was described to me, think of building a mound of sand on the beach. Then take a bucket of water and pour it on top. What do you get? A crater!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36Z-j4tobRKAkr6QFa9T6GvTDA3XN-cMIkEvTFxyeZLWlU8FqEemzbt0qPlgox6FiuxNXuqWOIaLhX4m5Nes3mYnC5watB1i0On54RuTt9rnXhrmIKbRTeAgTVlufozjlkugxNhM1j77Y/s1600/DSC_0028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36Z-j4tobRKAkr6QFa9T6GvTDA3XN-cMIkEvTFxyeZLWlU8FqEemzbt0qPlgox6FiuxNXuqWOIaLhX4m5Nes3mYnC5watB1i0On54RuTt9rnXhrmIKbRTeAgTVlufozjlkugxNhM1j77Y/s320/DSC_0028.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was so hot, but the way to hike in the desert when it's so hot is apparently to walk a bit, have a picnic, walk a bit, go swimming, rinse, repeat. I'm not complaining. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wApHB8ocxzt6GGX0vjunvNCa4WYOBFJK3a0GAKc2zenlKlaiXfEhWT4mXcK51PLFc6FK8O6iQ7JWEffGnHDIb_fKXVozayPL5tKndOGqEeoqz6EPO2chYdz_dU0Ab0G0CLxh6ZaCNNWl/s1600/DSC_0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wApHB8ocxzt6GGX0vjunvNCa4WYOBFJK3a0GAKc2zenlKlaiXfEhWT4mXcK51PLFc6FK8O6iQ7JWEffGnHDIb_fKXVozayPL5tKndOGqEeoqz6EPO2chYdz_dU0Ab0G0CLxh6ZaCNNWl/s320/DSC_0044.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And at the very end of the two-day trip, we of course drove past the Dead Sea (and later swam in it). The view before descending the last few hundred meters is amazing - the salt flats across the sea and the view of Jordan across it, completely surrounded by sand, is quite impressive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We camped in the Mitzpe Ramon crater for a night after having dinner and a bonfire. The stars were among the most amazing stars I've ever seen - the Milky Way crystal clear, and the sheer quantity of stars was incredible. Because the sun was so powerful, we slept in the shade of a cliff wall until the sun encroached on our campsite and we woke up to the powerful rays of sun (and of course, Abdallah making coffee). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Dead Sea</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On our way back up north, we had to stop by the Dead Sea for a quick dip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Dead Sea itself is unique, that's for sure. The salinity is so high that there are signs and warnings all around to NOT put your face in the water, and if you get the water in your eye, it is too painful to open, so a friend should escort you to the nearest outdoor shower to rinse off. The feeling of weightlessness is incredible and nothing like I'd ever felt before - you just lie there and you float. Your knees, feet, shoulders, and your butt all gravitate towards the surface - no swimming required! We of course tried to spell MIT while floating in the Dead Sea, but I'm not sure the pictures came out (they were not on my camera). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What surprised me most about the Dead Sea was the heat. Sure, it was hot, but the water felt like a sauna! In addition to the fact that all your scars and cuts stung (a.k.a. most of your skin, because everyone has many micro-cuts on their skin just from regular life), the water was not refreshing from the 37+ degree Celsius heat. In fact, the moment you got out of the water you instantly felt better. </span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00760833520541479692noreply@blogger.com1Mitzpe Ramon, Israel30.610203 34.80189799999993730.500887499999997 34.640536499999939 30.7195185 34.963259499999936