The road to Burgos

After 300 km the common question "why are you walking the Camino?" ends and the question "how are your feet?" begins.   At the beginning of the journey, philosophical and theological ideas rule, I am also assuming the end of the journey will be full of reflection and contemplation.  But we have reached Burgos, and Burgos has no patience for anything but the practical.  The city that proudly announces on their travel tour that they have 30 pilgrim hospitals, which have been running since the 13th century, knows pain. 

The path into Burgos is littered with abandoned hiking boots, and many of our traveling companions who were so energetic and hopeful as we crossed the border into Spain have bowed out.  Forced home by blown-out knees, swollen and twisted ankles, and bloody patched up feet to catch the next flight and head back to New Zealand, or Canada, or wherever home might be.  The small blister that didn't heal back in Pamplona has become an open wound and will no longer be ignored. Many robust and fit hikers struggle on the Camino.  They don't have the patience for only walking 20 km a day, knowing they may have done much more back home.  But the Camino is the long haul.  The day in and day out on that Roman Road with a pack is grueling and unforgiving.  Feet swell two-three sizes and those $250 hiking boots from REI, are suddenly abandoned for the OldNavy shower flip flops.  The café and paella, don't cover the fact that the Camino de Santiago is still a serious hike.  There is a reason that the Pope promised the forgiveness of ALL sins at the completion of this grueling trek. 

So how are we doing?  The truth of it Jake and I are tired, our feet have hurt every day for almost a month, and this is hard- real hard.  My ankle and Jake's knee from old sports injuries are throbbing.  But these girls of mine!  Their knees and ankles are of a newer model they just keep getting stronger.  They have Zero blisters, which is almost unheard of over here.  It's a combination of a little luck and some excellent waterproof boots, thank you Keen!   

Along with a daily routine of Vaseline, liners, and heavy wool
 socks the girls' feet are still like new.  At the end of the day, Claire is still dancing.  Yesterday she was showing off her best Irish Jig to a group of pilgrims.  This is embarrassing for two reasons: 

1. It was kind of rubbing her perfectly healthy feet in the face of those who are tripled up on Advil.  

2. They were Irish.  Although I am quite sure they had no idea, she was actually attempting an Irish jig.

Fun fact: Jake is a descendent of Roald Amundsen, the Norwegian explorer who was the first man to make it to the South Pole.  He led the expedition that beat the English explorer Scott in a race that captivated the world about 100 years ago.   My three traveling companions have explorer in their blood, and I have never seen anything like it.  As long as they stay hydrated, these girls of mine just keep going. Up and over the next hill as if this is what their bodies were made to do.  They are strong, and I love that they get the chance to see just how strong they are.

After the first day on the Camino, we sat both girls down and told them that they have a choice to be here.  This is a team sport and if either one of them at any point wants to be done- we are all done.  No guilt, no pressure, it's done as soon as they say it's done.  We can pack up and head to the Canary Islands (somewhere I have always wanted to go, and we may not have time to see them because we are walking the Camino).  This is a pilgrimage, not a forced crusade,  our whips didn't make it passed the 2nd cut of packing.   The Camino is too hard to be forced or manipulated into, you need to want to be here, even if you are seven.   We want to make it to Santiago, but we only want to make it there if we all want to make it there.  On our last day walking into Burgos, it was a hot, miserable dusty day, and the only view was the airport that we needed to walk completely around.  We were hiking with a group of other tired pilgrims, and I said, "Claire, there is the airport!  This is our out, all you have to do is say the word DONE and we  could be in the Canary Islands tonight."  The other pilgrims stared at her waiting to hear what she might say.  She yelled, "NOT done!  On to Santiago" with a determined fist in the air.  An Italian we were with smiled and said,  "Good girl, now could I have her ticket."