Camino Camraderie

“I haven’t been walking too far each day,” I told Dominic, my walking companion for the past two hours. 

“But you walk fast!” he said.
“Well, in the mornings, yes. But in the afternoons, not really. And if there’s a climb? I go like this,” I said, slowing my pace, putting my head down, and taking small steps. He laughed. But soon enough we arrived at an ascent, and he took off ahead of me, as I expected. I also expected he’d be waiting for me at the top. Not because he was obligated, but because it’s what people do on the Camino. 

I first met Dominic that morning about thirty minutes after beginning my walk. I learned he was walking all the way to Santiago de Compostela (about 55 days walk from where we were) and that he began in his home country of Switzerland. He was 24, had quit his job, and was on the Camino de Santiago to find work–work that he would enjoy. “And do you know what that would be?” I asked. 
“In a hostel or a bistro,” he said. “I love to cook.” I told him about the hostel in Madrid–where I’d stayed three weeks ago–that was both a hostel and a cafe. “It combines both of your interests,” I told him. But he has bigger plans: to open a hostel where young people could work for a spell to save money to go traveling. A man after my own heart, I thought. 

After the getting-to-know-you portion of our conversation, we came upon a WC (water closet) in the woods. The French have done an excellent job of building environmentally-friendly “dry toilets” along this route, complete with pictures on what happens to the waste. I indicated to Dominic that I was going to stop, and said maybe I would see him soon. I’d just met him and didn’t want to slow him down. I came out and he was gone, but after walking a few minutes I saw him at the top of a hill, waiting for me. 

So I wasn’t surprised when I got to the top of the next hill and he was waiting once again, this time smoking a cigarette beside a sign welcoming us to the town of Senergues. In the few minutes he had waited, he’d met three French women who were resting there. They were walking to Conques today, the end point of their journey, and encouraged Dominic and I to spend some time in that city when we got there. “I think I will,” Dominic said. “My feet are hurting and maybe I need to rest.” At this, one of the women motioned toward her backpack while giving a command in French to her friend. The friend unzipped the pack and produced a small brown plastic jar. “Here,” the woman said, handing the jar to Dominic. “Creme pour pelerins,” it read. Cream for pilgrims. “Put this on your feet tonight. Massage them. Then do it again in the morning.” She explained that she was finished and wouldn’t need it anymore. Dominic thanked her, a little surprised. I smiled at being able to witness the generosity of pilgrims. 

And as I write this I realize that it was karma, really. Dominic did a kind thing by waiting for me. Multiple times. If he hadn’t, he may never have met the woman with the cream. He may have just walked by them with a greeting instead of stopping for a chat. 

After lunch together, Dominic and I said our goodbyes. He was walking on.  I, however, had a researvation at a gite in the this town. I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again. Perhaps he will walk quickly enough that he will make it to San Anton while I am there. Perhaps not. Either way, I know we will both continue to be blessed by the generosity of pilgrims. 

A Girl’s Best Friend 

We could say our heroine walked alone on the afternoon of her seventh day on the Via Podiensis, but that would only be partially true. Though she was mostly devoid of human companionship on that day, she did manage to find companionship of another kind. 

On Saturday, June 24, 2017, after a lunch of bread, cheese, and cherries, our heroine left the small town of Nasbinals and continued her walk through the Aubrac region of France. 


As she walked the road out of town, a brown and white dog up ahead of her slid under a fence and headed toward a house. But as she walked by the house, he slid back out and caught her eye. She smiled, but didn’t say anything to him, not wanting to indicate that she was in anyway interested in having his company. Not because she didn’t like dogs, but because she didn’t want him to go far from home on her account. But he wanted to join her: he trotted off ahead of her and turned right onto the forested trail, as if leading her. He then took off at a gallop and was soon out of her view. She figured he would turnaround and return to his home but instead, once she got to open pasture land, she saw him sniffing his way across the field to her right. Then the tall grasses hid him from her view.
The rolling hills around her were only populated by cows and rocks. The largest rocks dotted the countryside; the smaller ones had been collected and piled into stone walls that crisscrossed the landscape as far as she could see. 


She walked alone for twenty minutes and then heard heavy panting behind her. She turned to see the dog flying up the trail towards her. She stopped and let him go ahead of her, and watched as he soon took a left under a barbed wire fence and again disappeared from her view. 

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 After 3 miles of his disappearing and reappearing, she encountered a French couple walking towards her on the trail. They were on the Tour d’Aubrac — another walk in the area. They greeted each other and when she was asked how her walk was, she pointed to the dog and said he had been with her since Nasbinals. She wondered aloud if he would return home. The French couple tried to call him, but he just looked and then went on about his business in the pasture. 

Our heroine soon arrived at a large sign that indicated–in both French and English– that beyond this fence only pilgrims were allowed. No dogs, no horses, no bicycles, no motorized vehicles. She had read about this area on the Internet the night before. She would be walking through pastures in which cows and bulls were dining. She imagined the farmers didn’t want other animals or bicycles to agitate the inhabitants of these fields. But there was nothing to keep an unleashed dog from entering.

She had taken to calling the dog Naz, short for the name of the town in which they met. She never called him by name, though. Nor did she feed him or even touch him. She thought by ignoring him he might decide it was time to go back to people that loved him. But she had no such luck. 

When she stopped at the sign he showed up next to her. He then trotted into the pasture and she watched as the cows paid him no mind, nor he them. Maybe this was a regular route for him? Was he there so often that they no longer cared? Whatever it was, she took it as a good sign, opened the fence, closed it behind her, and stayed on the trail. 
She hoped Naz would stay far enough ahead of her that if he happened to agitate any of the animals, she would have enough time to act. What would she do? She hadn’t yet figured that out. Slide under the barbed wire fence perhaps? 

Naz disappeared from her view again, showing up thirty minutes later with his legs and belly covered in mud. He eventually saw a couple ahead of our heroine and ran to join them. But when she stopped for a break, he trotted back down to her, sitting beside her pack and smelling worse than she did. It was not just mud he had walked through apparently. 


 After 6 miles of walking together, she arrived at her accommodation for the night. Naz had disappeared again but after she checked into her gite, she saw him walking around the parking lot. She explained to the owner of the gite that the dog was not hers, how he had followed her since Nasbinals. Thankfully, he had a collar which held a tag with a phone number. The woman called and his owner came to pick him up. Turns out Naz wasn’t a “he” at all. Her name was Jenny, and when her owner arrived in a pick up truck, Jenny jumped into the bed. The owner thanked us for calling, and with that, our heroine’s afternoon companion finally returned home.

The Difficulties of Day 3 (x 3)

Tuesday, June 20, Day 3: Monistrol d’Allier to La Clauze (19.2 km/12 miles)

Our heroine has the habit of getting into trouble on the third day of her Caminos. We recall her first Camino when, at the suggestion of new Camino friends, she walked past her intended stop of Zubiri in favor of a promised nicer town:  Larrasoaña. Her friends were right — the town was nicer than the gritty Zubiri, but the only restaurant in town was closed, and there was a question as to if the market would open that evening. But the worst part? The next morning she woke to find she was unable to put weight on her left foot. But that’s another story. 

Three years later, it was on the third day or her third Camino that she and Lois were turned away from the albergue they had reserved because they arrived five minutes late. Our heroine couldn’t believe it, and tears sprung to her eyes. Lois took over and found them a beautiful place nearby–whose food and hospitality was so good that they stayed for two nights. Friends that stayed at the place from which Lois and our heroine were rejected (ironically called Corazón Pura— “pure heart”) were also mystified as they ended up being the only two people staying there that same night. When they asked the owners about turning us away, they were told something about not having enough food. I guess there was going to be no loaves and fishes miracle at that Corazón Pura that night!

Our heroine, Lois, and a Camino friend before their rejection

Our heroine, however, had forgotten all of this when she began her third day on the Via Podiensis. 

She knew the day began with a climb out of Monistrol d’Allier. The town sits on a river and she knew from elementary school that rivers often ran at the bottom of valleys. Thus, the ascent. She started out at 7:10 a.m., crossing the Pont Eiffel, and appreciated that the heat had not yet descended. 


But she soon began to climb. She paused to catch her breath and to take pictures. The town got further and further away.

Monistrol d’Allier — from above


 She followed the red and white trail markers. She reached a chapel built under a large rock overhang, the town now well below her. 

Monistrol d’Allier — from further above


At every fork, the trail markers always directed her to the higher road. 

Though she doesn’t like climbing, our heroine loves the views


Three hours after she began, she had walked just 4.2 miles. She knew normal walking pace was 3 miles per hour. She was not happy. She was very hot. Her pack pulled on her back, her shoulders. No matter how she adjusted it, nothing helped. 

She came upon an Austrian man, sitting I the side of the trail. He began his walk at his home 59 days earlier. They walked together briefly and when she stopped to rest he continued on, saying he would wait for her in the next town. As she continued, she regretted that he was waiting. She had to stop for another rest, some food, water. She thought she’d arrive to the next town in one hour. It became two. At noon, she finally arrived in Sauges.

In the distance she saw a man sitting at a table in front of a bar, waving feverishly at her. Helfreit, the Austrian, welcomed her. “I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she said. “Just for one beer,” he said, indicating his empty glass. She moved to unbuckle her pack but he stopped her. “I have found a place for us to rest and have lunch,” he said. He took her down the street to a covered patio away from the noisy road. She started her meal with ice cream and orange soda. Then a sandwich. With the man who was nearly as old as her father, she engaged in conversations about life and love–more specifically the woman he met a few weeks ago while walking the Camino.
Even after an hour/and-a-half break, she decided she could not walk to the gite she had reserved. Five-and-a-half more miles in the 90 degree was not going to happen. She had started this Camino slowly enough–with 9 and 10 mile days. Her mistake was thinking she could jump to a 14 mile day so quickly. 

She called the Auberge Des 2 Pelerins. Too tired to think in French, she asked the host if he spoke English. He didn’t. He let her know she had 2.5 hours more of walking to get to him. “Oh la la,” she said, surprised to hear the French phrase come from her lips. “Je ne peux faire ca. (I can’t do that.)” 

“If you can get to La Clauze, I can meet you with the car,” he said. “Six kilometers. One hour.” She did the math in her head: 3.6 miles. At the rate she was going, she was hoping she could make it there in an hour and a half. She wasn’t impressed with Sauges, anyway. And she had heard his gite was wonderful. “Okay,” she said. He told her to call when she got to Le Clauze.

Two hours later she threw down her sticks and her pack and called Jean-Louis. At first he didn’t understand what she was saying. I just called him two hours ago. How could he not know who I am? She searched her mind for the right words. Finally, he understood.  A few minutes later, a car slowed and parked in front of her. Out stepped a plump man no taller than her, a smile showing beneath his handlebar mustache. He helped put her pack in the back of the van, and away she went, tired, hot, but happy she didn’t have to walk another step. Until tomorrow.

Our heroine with Lucette and Jean-Louis, the delightful and generous owners of the Auberge des 2 Pèlerins.

Leaving Le Puy-en-Velay

Sunday, June 18, 2017, Le Puy-en-Velay, France

In Le Puy-en-Velay, pilgrims are encouraged to begin their journey by attending a pilgrim mass that is offered daily at 7 a.m. Many attend whether they are religious or not. 

I won’t miss these stairs, but the view is worth it!

I climbed the steps to the cathedral at 6:50 a.m. greeted by a smiling David. Fifteen pilgrims sat on the stairs before the large, closed front doors. David and I traded stories of how we slept and as the clock chimed 7, a German woman checked the front door to find it locked. I went around to a side door and found it open. The mass had already started and there were about 50 people present. Backpacks lined the walls of the nave. I had no idea how these people got in. But I slid my backpack off and placed it and my sticks against the wall, then quietly found a seat. David did the same and came to stand next to me. Other pilgrims entered in the same fashion over the next fifteen minutes.

The mass proceeded as it has since my childhood — except that the whole thing was in French. Well, almost the whole thing. The first time I heard the priest speak English was just before Communion — to explain to us that if we were not Catholic, we were not allowed to partake. I can’t imagine Jesus telling some of the people gathered with him that they weren’t allowed to dine with him, but that’s another story. (To those of you that are Catholic, I understand why. I just can’t reconcile it.) When this announcement was made in the cathedral in Santiago at the end of my first Camino, I walked out. Over the course of the next year I went into a church twice: once for a wedding and once for a baptism. And I noticed something: I no longer took offense to the way things were done. I now had a distance from it all and was able to see it as just “the way some people see things.” Just like observing how another culture operates when I visit a foreign country, I watched, interested, wondering, but now lacking the judgement, frustration, anger. 

So in Le Puy-en-Velay, the announcement still stung, but I let it go. 

The second time the priest spoke English was at the end of the Mass. He invited all of the pilgrims present to gather in a place near the altar where he would offer a benediction. Seventy-five people gathered around him and a small table beside him. First, he asked where people were from. The first person who spoke said, “United States.” He then asked everyone from the US to raise their hands. There were five of us. Next, the French. The majority of people raised their hands. There were also people from Belgium, England, the French island of Reunion, and a few others.

After being sure he mentioned everyone’s country of origin, he held up a small book that was on the table beside him: the gospel of Luke. “It’s in French,” he told the English speakers, “so maybe you use it to help improve your French,” he said with a smile. There were white plastic rosaries enclosed in plastic along with a booklet about how to pray the rosary. “Also in French,” he told the English speakers. “But this time there are pictures,” he said, with another smile. And finally he offered a small booklet listing places to pray along the way. And by this he meant churches and chapels, because, now that I think about it, I’m sure he’d agree with my thought that you can actually pray anywhere you’d like. 

Next the priest lifted a small box from the table. Inside, he explained, were blank pieces of paper and a pen. He invited us to write what we were praying for on this Camino, and put it in a slot behind him. He then held up a second, longer box filled with folded papers. “These,” he explained, “are all the prayers of those pilgrims who were present for this mass over the last few days.” He offered that we could take one with us. Read it. Pray for that person. “This box,” he said, indicating the one in his hand, “are the ones in French. And this one,” he said, putting down the French prayers and picking up a smaller box, “are the ones in other languages.” I took one from the “other languages” box. It was in English. A long paragraph from an American now living in France. I put it in my pocket. 

Writing a prayer, and taking the prayer of another.


“Now, the blessing,” he said. He handed out small cards that contained a prayer for the pilgrims. He had it in at least six different languages. Once the foreigners had their copies, he said the prayer. 

He then moved us all directly in front of the altar. A woman who was assisting him lifted a thick 5′ x 6′ poster board and placed it on a ledge to our right. “The man who wrote the prayer called the Magnificant was from Le Puy,” he explained. “We have said this prayer in this cathedral every day for the last 1000 years.” The poster board showed the prayer in four different languages, including French and English. “We will say it now,” he told us. And we all read aloud in French. 

His female assistant then brought to him two small trays. “We have one of these for everyone,” he said, holding up a small medal. “On one side is the image of Notre Dame de Le Puy.” He turned and pointed to the black Madonna that looked out on the congregation from her perch behind the altar. “On the other side is the coquilles.” “Coquilles” is the French word for the scallop shell–the symbol of the Camino. In the Middle Ages, after pilgrims walked to Santiago, they continued on to the ocean and took a scallop to prove to everyone back home they had made it. Now pilgrims wear one on their backpacks, and they can be seen all over the Camino–on trail markers, hanging outside houses, on the tables in restaurants, etc. 

Behind the altar in Le Puy


“Back there, in the sacristy,” he said, pointing, “you can get your stamp. And then, you can descend the stairs and exit through the main doors.” Ahhh. Now I understood. They didn’t open the doors until the end of the mass. It was part of the tradition!
I went to the sacristy where a nun, in full habit, stood behind the counter of a small gift shop. She stamped my Camino credential in red ink. It was not my first stamp. My first was from the tourist office in Le Puy-en-Velay, and then I had stamps from the historic sites David and I visited the day before. The nun wished me well on my journey. Along the back wall of the room, I saw pilgrims writing on long pieces of paper. I went over to see what they were. It was a form one could fill out to be listed in the register of pilgrims. I filled mine in, and then headed back to the church to grab my pack. 

David and I descended the stairs. “Wait — I want a picture,” I said, pulling my phone out from its place in the side pocket of my hiking pants. A volunteer we’d met the previous night was there and offered to take our picture together. We stopped to look at the view one last time, and with that, we were off.

David and I

Ready to begin my first day in the Via Podiensis

Leaving the Cathedral

How Not to Lose Weight on the Via Podiensis

Despite walking 12-15 miles per day, I have never lost weight while doing a Camino. Dinner last night at the Gite d’Étape LaGrange will help you understand why. 

Along the Camino routes in France, a pilgrim can stay at “gites.” They are privately owned by a local families. Rooms have 2-4 beds in them, but these are not hostels. Far from it, in fact. There are no bunk beds. Sheets are included. And many times there is an en suite bathroom. But the best part of a gite? You have the option of “demi-pension” which means “half-board.” This means your hosts will cook and serve you dinner and as well as breakfast the next morning. In the case of the Gite d’Étape LaGrange, my dinner, night’s rest, and breakfast came to a grand total of 32 Euros (maybe 36 dollars). If you think that’s a deal, wait until you see the video of the place. (Click here.)

Oh — and that dinner? Well, I’m in France. Take a guess as to how amazing it is. But for those of you who have not yet had the pleasure of eating in France, I’ll elaborate. And those of you that have had a meal in France, well, I’m sure your mouth is watering already. 

At seven p.m. the ten of us staying in the gite gathered around the table, which was set and already had bottles of wine and pitchers of water as well. Our host, Christian, deposited two bowls on our table. The first was a salad of mostly tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs as well as some lettuce, all dressed in the mustard vinaigrette that seems to be traditional in many French-speaking counties (I’ve had the pleasure of this salad in other parts of France as well as in Switzerland.) The second bowl contained the famous Le Puy green lentils, cooked in some sort of vinaigrette as well, from what I could tell. 

After some time partaking of these dishes, our host came back to the table to encourage us to finish everything in the serving bowls. Person after person passed on the salad, so it was left to Ed and I to do our part. Ed, a middle school American History teacher from Baltimore, took some of the salad, and when I asked if he wanted any more before I finished it he said, “Oh, no. I need to leave room for the next course.” “The next course?” I asked. “I thought this was our dinner.” “Oh, no,” he assured me. I could have left the table satiated at that moment, but having walked 10 miles, I didn’t think I’d have trouble eating something else. 

For our main course, Christian served us thick links of baked sausages (another regional speciality) and the creamiest mashed potatoes I’ve ever had. I can assure you he didn’t use skim milk to make them. 

Next came a plate of cheeses. Two, Christian explained, were made locally. The third was a type I’d had the day before in Le Puy-en-Velay. Perhaps not local, but certainly French. Christian explained that they were all made from cow’s milk. Not that it mattered. I was in France. There was cheese. Of course it was going to be good. (For the record: I was right.)
In Spain, when a meal includes dessert, dessert is a piece of fruit or a small cup of plain yogurt accompanied by a packet of sugar. Certainly not what we Americans would consider dessert. So you can understand why I thought the cheese was our dessert. “Nope,” Ed said. “That was just the cheese course.” Well, duh. Of course the French would have a separate course during which the only goal is to enjoy some of the country’s cheeses. 

So just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, Christian, for his final performance, brought out slices of chocolate cake. And of course it was unlike anything I’d had in the U.S. It wasn’t nearly as sweet. You could actually taste the chocolate as opposed to the sugar. 
And so it was that two hours after we started, the ten of us cleared the table for our host. Yes, we were paying for the meal and for his service, but when you have a meal like that money just doesn’t seem enough. 
So don’t worry about me. I’m doing quite well here in France. Perfectly content to not lose a single pound this entire trip. 

The Gite d’Étape LaGrange in Montbonnet

Sightseeing in Le Puy-en-Velay

Last we left our heroine, she was about to spend her first night in her small cabin on the hill in Le Puy-en-Velay, France. She arrived to find the door more than a few feet in a jar. She walked in and saw that her roommate Isabelle had already gone to sleep, and left the door open because it was so stuffy inside the cabin. The cool air of the evening had yet to penetrate the very small space. She climbed into bed in her wrinkle proof dress and hoped for a good nights sleep. It was not to be. She tossed. She turned. In a couple hours the cabin cooled down. In a couple more hours it was downright cold. By the time she looked at her clock, it wasn’t worth trying to sleep any longer.  

Cabin home above Le Puy-en-Velay


And so at 5:30 AM on Saturday, June 17, she pulled out her journal and began catching up on her writing. Isabel awoke shortly thereafter, her goal being to attend the 7 AM pilgrim mass in the cathedral. our heroine stayed writing in bed because 1) she wanted to and 2) the cabin was really too small for two people to be moving in and out of it at the same time. 

After Isabel left, she went about her morning routine, and then walked into the town to meet David for a day of sightseeing. After devouring a pain au chocolat, they climbed up to the chapel of St. Michel, perched on a rock in the middle of the city And built in 962 by Bishop Godescalc who promised he would do so after returning from a pilgrimage to Santiago.  

St. Michel d’Aiguilhe

Inside St. Michel d’Aiguilhe



David–admiring the stonework? Contemplating life?


Not having had their fill of stairclimbing yet, they next ascended to the base of the Virgin Mary statue (Notre Dame de France). Made from the metal of Russian cannons captured during the Crimean war, it is perched on yet another rock in the middle of the same city. And as if arriving at the base wasn’t enough, they continued into the statue, David even managing to climb the ladder to peek out between her crown stars. Rebecca tried, but fear overcame her and she retreated. 

More stairs? Why not?

Inside the Notre Dame de France

The view of the Le Puy cathedral from inside the Notre Dame de France statue


“I think I’ve had enough stairclimbing for one day,” said David. She agreed and they searched out a lunch option for David’s vegetarian lifestyle. The region is known for its Le Puy lentils (“the caviar of the poor” she read the next day), which they both had as part of their lunch. 
They paid a visit to the museum of the pilgrim: thoughtful words about the journey were shared in nine rooms — one for each portion of the walk. She walked inside the cathedral for the first time and was surprised to see a black Madonna. She recalled that these were unusual and sought out by some people, but she couldn’t recall more than that and was curious as to how came to be one here.

 At 5:30 PM, they were welcomed into Le Camino–a space specifically for pilgrims who are leaving the next morning the way of St. James. Volunteers who had done the Camino welcomed them with a glass of verbeine — a local syrup made from verbana and, in this case, cut with water. It is popular here and also sold as a liquer.
After a late dinner, she and David parted ways. They would meet again the next morning at the Cathedral for the daily pilgrim mass at 7 AM, after which she would begin her journey on her fourth Camino, and David would continue his journey on his third. 

Le Puy-en-Velay

Girl leaves Lyon, France to head to her Camino starting point: Le Puy-en-Velay. One train and one un-air-conditioned bus later, she arrives. She hikes up out of the city 15 minutes to her cabin home away from home. She arrives two hours before she planned, and the owners are not there. There is a note on the door that says early arrivals can call a cell phone number, but the girl did not yet get a French Sim card for her phone and so cannot call. She thinks about sitting under the shade of a tree and writing for the next two hours. But her intuition tells her to go into town. And so she does.

She descends back into the city, attains the SIM card, and then walks through a square only to hear someone calling her name. She looks up and is delighted to see her Camino friend from Asheville, David Vaughn, sitting at a table on a terrace overlooking the square. He began his third camino in Geneva a couple weeks ago. She and he had emailed and discovered that perhaps they would be in the same town on the same day. But neither had made any plans for how to find each other. I just figured I’d sit in one of the squares with a good view of all the people going by, and maybe I’d find you,” David told her.

She had met David only once but in that short time she learned he was a minimalist living in a 700 square-foot house and therefore she wanted to learn more about him. She is thrilled to be able to connect with him over a glass of lemonade in Place du Caizel–a world away from where they met.

They sit fully engaged in each other’s stories. They talk over drinks until she has to hike back up to her cabin to meet her hosts.
They later meet for dinner and, as often happens on the Camino, conversation quickly deepens. She learns he has a son her age. They talk of their families, their childhoods, and the generosity of their mutual Camino friends in Asheville, Chris and Esther. They climb the stairs up to the cathedral. It is closed for the day, but they sit looking out at the view of Le Puy as they talk of time, busyness, and the tendency to live in the past or the future instead of the present.

Me, delighted to have yet another travel companion to take my picture. Note that this is my “Camino dress.” My mother bought it for me prior to my first Camino and it’s been on every Camino since.

The view from the cathedral stairs


They do their best to stay awake as darkness falls so they can view the Lumières– The light shows the town has every night from May to September on five of its historic buildings around the city. They begin at 10:15 with the show at the theater, then walk over to see the one at the Hôtel de Ville, and finally the show at the Cathedral.

The light show at the Cathedral. Note this was taken from nearly the same place as the picture of me earlier in this post.


She had heard there were many interesting sites in the city and so had plans to stay for two nights. Earlier in his Camino, he had decided to do the same. “What time would you like to meet tomorrow?” she asked. He said, “How about you plan the itinerary for the day. Someone tells me you’re very good at that.” She laughed knowing it was probably Chris who divulged her determination to prepare and plan (sometimes too much!) for her Camino travels. They parted ways looking forward to exploring the city’s wonders the next day.