The Plagues of the Camino

If you get a little bored with our constant rendition of “we got up early, we walked far, the weather was bad, we were tired, we ate well, we went to bed early,” imagine how we feel! We are on the Meseta now, so our view never changes. But just to change things up for you, Judy & I worked on a thematic post (tongue planted firmly in cheek) which we share with you now:

The Eight Plagues of the Camino. Yes, I know that ancient Egypt suffered ten plagues, but we’re not done yet, so I left some space for suggestions. In Camino guidebooks and on webboards/social media, you can find many positive experiences from the Camino. These are not those. In no particular order here are the Plagues:

Snorers. We’re not talking your garden variety, mouth-breathing, rumbler. In an albergue room of 20-30 pilgrims, you’ll always find some of those…in fact I am listening to several right now as I write this at 4:00 in the afternoon. No, we’re talking roaring, snorting, animal noises like a chain-smoking velociraptor. And regardless of how small a room you’re in, there is always at least one.

Rocks. For some strange reason, it appears the Spaniards have gathered rocks from their fields, and not made fences, but instead dropped them in piles on the Camino, especially in areas with steep hills. Not gravel, but just rocks, which then wash down the trail creating little creek beds to stumble across. You can try walking around them, but there lies mud (more on that later). If you step on them, you bruise the bottom of your foot AND get the possibility of starting to slide or fall.

Mud. I have read some magnificent trail journals by pilgrims who experienced no rain on their Camino. I hate them. We traded the gray clay of the Pyrenees for the red clay of La Rioja, both sufficiently moisturized into a thick slurry which sticks to your boots, your pants, and your poles. The mud covers everything, eliminating the chance to rest by sitting down, and making the optional daily clothes washing mandatory, if you want to wear clothes (recommended).

False prophets. These come in a variety of shapes and sizes. There’s the optimistic pilgrim who insists the weather will get better tomorrow. There are the random signs which tell you it’s 10 kilometers to Azofra, then it’s 12 kilometers away (wait, is Azofra moving away from me?), no, now it’s only 6 kilometers. But the worst are the Caministas, the folks who have fallen head over heels in love with the camino. You see, people in love are rarely objective. Chief among these is a certain John Brierly, whose English language guidebook to the Camino Franced is about as accurate as using the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales as a guide for travel through Germany. If you want to learn how to “experience” the camino, his book might work for you. If you are interested in more mundane matters like eating, sleeping, and not getting lost, not so much.

Domingo. You may know this as the Spanish word for Sunday, but it has a special camino significance. Spaniards take Saturday night very seriously, so Sunday does not start until noon. No kidding, there is no such thing as Sunday morning. Since there is no such thing, there are also no stores, restaurants, cafes, nada open during this non-time. When walking the Camino, make sure you factor this in!

Blisters. When walking 800 kilometers, it is quite likely you’ll eventually discover you have a blister. Blister prevention and care is a hot topic among pilgrims, and may be an even more volatile subject than politics! There’s the no socks, just sandals crowd, the silk liners and wool socks cabal, the vaseline group, foot powder fanatics, and that is just in the prevention discussion. Once you have a blister, everybody has a VERY STRONG opinion: Lance it! No don’t, it will get infected. Leave it alone! Compeed! Amputate! And my personal favorite: you wouldn’t get a blister if you (repeat prevention argument here).

Sudden Urges. As in, “I ate some picante pimientos last night, and now I have the sudden urge to do something about it, even though I am standing on a wide open trail in the middle of a vast vineyard.” Since all pilgrims face the same dilemma, we all eventually become rather blasé about taking care of such matters with a minimum of concealment. More shocking still is to think you’ve found an ideal, out of the way spot only to discover many, many, others have been there before. I will leave this picture to your imagination.

Timers. Europeans are very ecologically minded, and the Camino is a mass movement of people where much water and power could be wasted. Sooooo, your showers and bathroom lights are all on timers. You know it’s for a good cause, and it gets pretty easy to time the water and complete a shower without much trouble. However, many of the toilet stalls have a light timer far from the commode, meaning darkness comes upon you at the most inauspicious times. And the toilets are interior rooms, no windows, sometimes not even the timer switch is illuminated. So have a phone at the ready as a flashlight.

If you’re a Camino veteran, feel free to suggest additional plagues. I avoided anything ambiguous, like weather, since a cold rain in the Pyrenees might seem pestilential, but the same rain on a hot Meseta afternoon might seem providential.