Climb Every Mountain

Climb every mountain,
Search high and low,
Follow every byway,
Every path you know.

Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
'Till you find your dream.

A dream that will need
All the love you can give,
Every day of your life
For as long as you live.

Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
Till you find your dream

A dream that will need
All the love you can give,
Every day of your life,
For as long as you live.

Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
Till you find your dream.

This was my theme yesterday, and here's what happened.

The next to last picture is a rainbow. From the end of a huge thunderstorm that we had the grave to witness from a glassed-in patio dining room, being served a home cooked meal.

Lessons

What I learned at the Lush store.
Oregon was founded by Spaniards. The word Oregon, if you change the g to ch it means a large ear. Then he named a bunch of states I can't remember that are originally Spanish, Colorado for one. California was originally Roma. It was hard to pay attention as I was distracted by having a young Spaniard giving me a lesson on U.S. geography, in pretty good English I might add. Washington? The Spaniards didn't go there.  I joked, they stopped you at the border!  He didn't get it or was insulted, one of them. Hard to tell.
My cider research
It's called sidre and this region of Spain is known for growing the apples and making the cider. It's a big deal all over Asturia. I found two near the church, and the church was open. Church visit first. Nice old church. Mass at 20:00, in two hours. I picked the cider place that looked the most local. I told the bar tender I wanted cider. He said something I didn't understand, then he held up a bottle. Yes, Si. Here's what I got.

There's a button on the top that dispenses the cider in the glass under pressure. Kinda fun. But Bette, how are you going to possibly drink that whole bottle? I pretended I did this on purpose, read on my Kindle and stayed a long time. Needless to say, I missed mass. What I learned later was that's the only way it comes.  Not for me. Like beer, it gives me gas. Its bad enough that I snore in the albergues. 

Seattle Raindar

Living in a raincentric country has it's adantages. This morning I ventured forth in the sunshine, rounding the corner to Santander Cathedral. Got barked at about buying a ticket to go in the Cathedral. In mostly English I told her I came to pray. She looked confused but I continued in.

"The Master is here and calling you. "

After a while people were singing and a priest was at the altar.  Mass!

I don't understand the words but if I pay attention I can keep track of the sequence and responses.  Afterwards, can't explain it, I felt incredibly happy. After Mass everyone went back to where the monstrance was kept and there were prayers and responses and singing as the Blessed Sacrament was put away. 

(Sorry, I can't get the format out of "center")

Back outside into partly sunny skies and a long walk along the water. That's when the raindar picked up the dark clouds heading my way. I turned back towards familiarity and found my favorite bar near my pension. Vino Blanco por favor. Then the skies opened and dripping umbrella tops moved past the window.

Camino de Santander

My steps touch ancient paved walkways that become more familiar each day. I no longer need to ask at the bars for a wifi code because my phone knows them all. I've been to the same Cathedral so often, I enter as a local. I sleep in a double bed that is all mine. I can even watch tv (in Spanish). What kind of Camino is this? Last week it was one step in front of the other, new surroundings every moment, sleeping in "closets" crammed with bunkbeds and strangers.
Somewhere between Gernika and Eskirika I overstrained my legs and continued to walk on a sore foot for another week. By the time I got to Santander I could no longer walk.
I saw a doctor who diagnosed severe tendonitis and prescribed huge doses of Ibuprofen and rest. I checked myself into a pension for four days.
Day 1. The first day it was kind of like being a tourist exploring the town, but not much because it hurt to walk.
Day 2. I found the Cathdral and went to mass. Then went to my room and watched King Kong in Spanish. Later I perused the shops and buy nothing because I'd have to carry it. A song was playing at a shop I was in and I heard the words, "and nothing else matters." I turned around and among the souvenirs I suddenly saw this.

Nothing Else Matters

Day 3. Got to wondering. Why am I here?  If "the Camino provides" like they say it does, what's it providing? Again I'm at the Cathedral, spending at least an hour before the Blessed Sacrament. As I left I found a lightness and confidence I hadn't felt before. I needed this time to get over myself and internalize this journey.
I'm on my way...

14 Pounds of Pilgrimage

I am packed! Here's my gratuitous photo of all my stuff laid out before it goes into my trusty Osprey.

Here's a close up of my favorite thing. It's the cover that holds my silk sleep sack. Now I have a little love letter every night. 

Don't tell my doctor. I'm wearing my pack, and it feels pretty good. I'm going to see how I feel after wearing it for a couple of hours. If that's good, I'll try a hike.   M a y b e,  I'll be able to wear it - :)

2 Fat Pilgrims

Early on in my training walks, I came across these guys. Then I started to purposely walk by them and visit. They make me laugh. So of course I found and ordered them on Amazon! The box had a name for them: 2 Fat Pilgrims. Perfect. Now they grace my front porch, and they still make me laugh. 

I lost my Camino clothes

It wad s time to start packing. I've had all the stuff that I've set aside to take lying on the spare bedroom bed, strewn everywhere. And when we cleared out the dining room and kitchen to paint, stuff when there, too. I got all my stuff back together, except for my clothes. I've been stressing about this for about two weeks, when I was coming down off my drugs and wanting to get back to normal. I woke up this morning about 5:30, with another place to look for my clothes. They weren't there. I re-looked everywhere. My bedroom closet was a mess. There are so many things I can't wear any more because I've lost too much weight for them to look okay (baggy on short people isn't a good look), and they were in piles on my bed and the floor. Couldn't find my clothes, Steve came in the room to get a shirt, pulled some folded clothes off his shelf and handed them to me: these don't belong to me, he said. THEY WERE MY CAMINO CLOTHES! I lost 50 pounds of worry just then.