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June 07, 2004

The Plan
So here's the status: Between June 9th and June 11th Christina and I (that's Nathaniel), soon-to-be juniors at Northwestern University, will make our way from Chicago to Connecticut to London to Paris. We'll spend our first French night at the Absolute Paris hotel/hostel, which, according to their website, has an absolutely dazzling view of the St. Martin Canal, and is most conveniently situated just a short walk away from all the major attractions. Fifty-five days later we fly out of Milan, Italy. In between, we'll walk 400 miles through Spain, beg for rides from town to town in Liguria, swim in an ocean or two, consume copious numbers of baguettes and bocadillos, and probably lose something extremely important. If all goes to plan, the plan will change completely. Instead of emailing everyone, this website is our way of uber-vogue communication. We'll probably update every three or four days, and we'll be sure to include all the details that make mothers cringe and fathers high-five younger brothers (or vice versa). Just kidding... We won't include those details. Here's another photo of us See you in August. Love Christina and Nathaniel
Posted by Nathaniel on June 7, 2004 04:02 AM

June 10, 2004

We've gone European


So, here we are. London itself! Well, not London exactly so much as Heathrow airport. Our flight to Paris leaves in the morning and not wanting to shell out the pound for a hotel we had planned to just sleep here. At first, we were a little worried about security (read: us getting tossed out), but a nice airport official assured us, in his wonderfully thick (or, perfectly normal) accent that we would have no problem. He even suggested which terminal might have the best benches.

Time is short on these wall machines, but a few first thoughts: 1. If Austin Powers were really real, he would fly Virgin Atlantic. 2. Its funny that the first 'cultural differences' you notice are marketing and product based. 3. My hiking clothes make me look like Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter. Cheers from the UK!
Posted by Nathaniel on June 10, 2004 05:42 PM

June 10, 2004

cheers!
The very first thing I heard when I got on the plane was the new Justin Timberlake hit blaring over the loud speakers- virgin Atlantic is actually the most entertaining airline i have ever been on. It hasn't completly hit me that where in London, maybe because we aren't going to leave the airport. We ere a little concerned about spending the night here, but a we were kindly instructrd by a security guard to 'get a drink at the bar and find a bench.' Other than the elevated price of airport muffins, andthe fact that theflight supervisor, who is supposedly trying out for Duran Duran, kind of sounded like Brad Pittin Snatch, London- or at least the airport- seems like a sweet place. Despitelooking like a 2 year old when trying tocount out the exact change in pounds to pay for my coffee, it has only taken a few hours for me to go from saying 'bathroom' to 'toilet. Conclusion: virgin atlantic and the airport are awesome,and nathaniel would like everyone to know that we actually heard someon say ''wot! wot are you dewin with irish pikies!?!' -- it's true, pikies do exist. cheers! christina
Posted by Christina in Europe on June 10, 2004 06:50 PM

June 12, 2004

Vive la France
Bonjour! Paris is absoultely beautiful. Every street is different from the one before it. We woke up a little bit later than expected but everything worked out. Breakfast at the hostel was great and for lunch we bought a bread at a bakery with tomatoes and fresh cheese. The Eiffel Tower almost seems fake because of how many times I have seen it in pictures. I half expected to encounter some sort of hostility from the people in Paris, mostly because of all the talk

about how much they hate americans, but other than the anti-Bush sentiment, i can honestly say i have seen little proof of this supposed hatred. We have been walking all day and it is wonderful. There are leashless dogs running around everywhere and people wandering the parks right by the eiffel tower as if they have seen it so many times, they don't even notice it's there. The little french that i know has proven fairly useful, but for the most part people speak pretty good english. Twelve hours of sleep certainly helped me get re-energized; it feels great having the freedom, to just walk wherever we want and, as nathaniel said, not have to meet up with a group at a specific time and place. I had some sort of false impression that we would meet a lot of people doing something similar to us- the pilgrimage, or a different walk oriented trip- for the most part, though, we have met numerous people who are staying in paris or taking the rail to get to various countries. Our two roommates last night were college students from PA and they had visited 12 countries and 18 cities in 30 days. While Paris is great, i am very excited to leave for spain tomorrow. I cannot wait to experience the Camino after months of planning and thinking about it. That is all for now. Au'revoir, Christina
Posted by Christina in Europe on June 12, 2004 08:39 AM

June 12, 2004

Je Ne Parle Pas Francais...


And then, there was Paris... Almost immediately after landing at CDG, I aquired the insecure awkward stare of a person totally thrown out of their linguistic comfort zone for the first time. Christina had taught me a few essentials ("I don't speak French" "Do you speak English?" and most importantly "I'm sorry!") but they did little to alleviate this weird new self-conciousness. I tried to tell myself that it was good for me, and that I sure as hell needed to get over it before leaving for Egypt in the Fall, but still...ugh. This wasn't my only first impression though. To get to the hotel we had to walk for about 45 minutes. The path took us through the winding streets of Northern Paris, overflowing with Cafes, brasseries Arab butcheries and more. Beautfiul balconies seem to poke lazily out of every building. Throughout the day yesterday, extreme language-lacking awkwardity and visual extasy competed for control of my brain. Perhaps it was the 12-hour nap, or the late-night converstion with the kids from Philly who had to pound on the door so we would wake up to let them in to our shared dorm-room, or maybe the free croissants and coffee at the hostel this morning, but today has been a different story entirely. The extasy and excitement has cast the discomfort aside in an epic fashion, appropriate for the history and beauty that surrounds us.

It is hard to decide what even to write about this place. Because we've been around entirely on foot, Christina and I have seen many faces of the city. We've seen the gorgeous Place de la Concorde and the walked under the Tour Eiffel, but we've also been treated to the subtle beauties of Paris that care little about the industry of tourism. These, I think, are my favorite parts. Yesterday evening, we spent a while in the chapel of St. Germain L'Auxerrois, listening to a choir practice. At dusk, we sat on the edge of a fountain in one of the plazas at the Louvre and listened to a man play flute concertos that echoed across the facades. To counter the one big criticism that we have heard about Paris (both here and at home), the average Parisian has not struck us as rude or American-hating. Actually, to be quite honest, the only people we've heard this from here are ones who I would be totally ready to be rude to as well. Despite how nice it is, we have itchy feet that we can't fight any longer. Tommorow, we take our TGV train down to Bayonne, then St. Jean Pied du Port, and its BUEN CAMINO from there! Au'revoir
Posted by Nathaniel on June 12, 2004 08:53 AM

June 16, 2004

Buen Camino
So here we are- three days, lots of cows, sore feet, and a herd of sheep later. Spain and France are absolutely beautiful. I have never eaten so much bread in my entire life! I have probably consumed more baguettes than the Atkins diet would allow in 3 years. The first day of walking was pretty difficult. We walked up and down the mountains for 27 km. And of course, when there was a choice, nearing the end of our hike, between an easier and harder path nathaniel said when in your life do you have that option and choose easy? So down through the woods we went. All in all it was an exciting start to our trip. Every place is so different, and we have some great pictures to prove it. Today we reached Pamplona which is the first big city on our trip. Walking through some of the villages makes it seem like we have gone back in time. There is not enough film in the world to capture the beauty of it all. Among various others, we have met an entire family from North Carolina, a very friendly German man who speaks perfect english, and a retired pilot from Italy. This really is a place where everyone, regardless of background or age, can come together. Well, I hope everyone is having a great summer. Buen Camino, Christina One other story: On our way yesterday, we noticed that the guide book said There is a large plant, but the

path will continue after it. So, naturally, as we walked, we wondered what made this particular plant so special, only to realize that they were talking about a power plant and not an actual plant. Our German friend got quite alaugh out of our extremely intelligent mistake.
Posted by Christina in Europe on June 16, 2004 09:02 AM

June 16, 2004

Somos Pelegrinos!
"OhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHH SHIT!" Christina yelled as she jumped to the side and wrenched my backpack from behind. Just a few seconds earlier we had been peacefully making our way down a dusty dirt road, flanked by waist knee-high grass that floated with the morning wind. The day had a grey beginning, but the sun was starting to poke through the clouds above the forest behind us. It was our second day on the Camino de Santiago. We had arrived at our starting point from Paris two days earlier. Stepping off the TGV train at St. Jean Pied de Port was like stepping into a painting. Cream colored stucco houses with red tile roofs with clacking shatters framed the narrow cobblestone street which led us to the Acqueil de Saint Jacques and the Refugio where we would spend the night. The Camino is a 1200 year old Catholic pilgrimage that has, for some reason, in the last 15 years, become the hottest tourist phenomenon in Europe. They estimate that this year, some 170,000 thousand people will walk at least part of the trail in an official capacity. Official means that at the place you begin, you register as a pilgrim with an organization sanctioned by the Catholic Church. You can start variously in Spain, Portugal, France, Germany, or even Moscow. Every Camino path ends leads the pilgrim (peregrino) to Santiago de Compostela, in the very northwest Part of Spain. It is not hard to understand why the trail has become popular. It is hard to think of another trip that you could take where each day brings new food, new friends, mountains, valleys, mist on the horizon, checker-board farmland, cows by the side of the road, horses so close you could reach up and touch them, and over a thousand years of history and simultaneous kinetic experience that brings you into an irevocable and (as yet) unexplainable relationship with the millions of pilgrims of aeons past. All that for a few blisters and about 15 euro a day. Anyway, it had been all verdant fields and sun soaked flowers for us until Christina yelled that second morning. As we descended down the little hill, we noticed a dog that began to, for lack of a better term freak out. The next moment, a farmer down at the bottom started yelling and waving a giant staff in the air. All of a sudden, we were stuck in a sea of sheep.

Baas and Bleets joined in cacophonic concordance with the barking of sheep-dogs, the yell of the farmer, and the swearing that poured forth from Christina and I as we jumped to the side. We had not been off to the side for more than three seconds before the entire herd stampeded past in a furious panic. Clomp clomp bark clomp clomp bark, the sounds receded into the distance. We had made it; we had survived our first major sheep attack. But all was not well. As Christina brushed herself off, I felt a sting on my leg, as if a bee or seven had just stung me all at the same time. I looked down to see yellow welts sprouting up from my calf. The goddamn sheep had pushed me into a poisonous, stinging plant.

*** We have only been on the Camino for three days, yet already we have a hundred stories like this. It has been amazing so far, and promises to live up to our expectations. Tonight we are going to a Bar in Pamplona to watch the Spain-Greece futbol game and eat Tapas with our new German friend Robert. We might convince a few others to come along as well. For now, Ultreya (onward and keep going)!
Posted by Nathaniel on June 16, 2004 09:16 AM

June 20, 2004

El Masculino
Partially to keep the memories fresh, partially to better understand the experience, and partially for sheer self-gratification, both Christina and I have been keeping journals of our experience here in Spain. Each night, well spend a little time "reflecting" on the days events. Sometimes the entries are totally perfunctory. "Today I did ______. I saw many pretty things ________. _______ is really nice." Other times they are dashingly poignant insights into some deep region of one of our souls that is off limits to our daily conciousness, but to which the Camino has provided a path. (Okay okay, Im a little caustic about the moment about the mystical new-age soul-searching spirituality aspect that some seek to find in the Way to St. James, but only because I read about 50 pages of Shirley Maclaines Camino: A Pilgrimage of Courage last night. One of my favorite sections was when she "became the flower" she was looking at, just after a stick told her it wanted to come along. Surely not all new

age spirituality is this ridiculous, but that doesnt mean it doesnt warrant a few good jabs here and there. But as they say on the Camino, Ultreya (onward) with the story.) A few nights ago, we stayed in the beautiful old city of Puente la Reina. We had had a hard day walking, and as the sun went down over the horizon, we limped towards the 900 year old bridge that leads out of town and on towards the rest of the trail. It seemed like the perfect place to sit and write. The air was alive with little bugs, and the water glistened a golden yellow. I had decided that that night, I would write about the churches that we had seen. It was a good subject. I was excited to talk about the strange duality I felt whenever I walked into one of the ancient stone monuments. Christianity and I dont really agree on too much at the moment, but I still get a strange comfort from sitting quietly in the pews as some one preaches or a choir sings. Already on this trip, I ve been in seven or eight of these great medieval religious castles. Shirley Maclaine would probably say that my metaphysical faultlines ran along the alignment of the church constelation in the stars, or something. My pen had just touched the notebook when the sinister laughing of nine year old soldiers grabbed my attention. We had found a great little spot below and off to the left of the famous bridge. Just up and over, though, about ten kids, all between seven and eleven, leaned over smiling in a way that made you wonder what was up. Chrisina noticed it too. We shook it off and began writing. INNER MONOLOGUE: "The first church I stepped in was the ancient Chapel of Santiago at St. Jean Pied de Port. Situated at the bottom of the hill that.... WHAT THE F.. Water splashed to the left of us but didnt hit. The kids were still there on the bridge, still smiling. "Situated at the bottom of the hill that leads up to the Acqueil de St. James and the... OH YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!" It was like the slow motion action sequence in a movie. Time itself seems to come to a standstill as the valient but doomed hero (and heroine) watch the speeding bullet that signals their impending exit from the stage. One of the kids screamed and we both looked up to see a Doritos bag, filled with water, spraying everywhere, heading right for us. We were paralyzed with disbelief, and sat in stunned awe as our journals, t-shirts, and shorts were soaked in the barrage. Anger: How could they do that, these journals are important, were sitting so quietly!

Revenge: Oh youre dead! How can you stand up to me? Defeat: Retreat!!! Doing the only thing we could think to do, we scurried under the bridge, hoping that the trick would work and the kids would think wed left. I couldnt believe it. So far, Id been humbled by blisters, forced off the road by sheep, and now totally emasculated by a bunch of punkshit little Puente la Reinan nine year olds. So much for American Superiority. And they werent even done yet. When the children moved slightly to the side, our rouse was discovered. They smiled and waved and a new barage of bombas de agua (this time in real water baloon form) sailed our way. Seizing my only chance to hit back, I grabbed a juice bottle they had thrown, filled it with water from the river and hurled it back. "HA!" I thought, "have a taste of your own medicine!" Still, I had nothing. They loved it, and their terror assault became a legitimate battle. The Brigadere General of the Company whooped and hollared as I fought back. "MUY BIEN!" He screamed. Left close to defeated, and without more ammunition, Christina and I gave up our ideas of writing, and tried desperately to think of a plan that would allow us to escape and still come out (more or less) on top. We decided that the next time a round came our way, we would run at them screaming, like fairy tail trolls coming out from beneath the bridge. Everything worked: They threw, we ran at them, they screamed. Then they realized we were all talk. Our ammo was gone, we had no water. More than that, we werent going to try to beat them up with that nice elderly couple watching (the grandma and grandpa sat contentendly by the fountain where the kids concieved their devious assault). Soon it was us running. They chased us down the street, launching baloons as we went. Were it not for our longer legs, things could have been much, much worse. Tired, and defeated, we retreated to the Albergue for a long night of healing our wounded pride.

The Spanish may have left Iraq, but trust me... they still know war.

Love From the Camino.

Posted by Nathaniel on June 20, 2004 09:32 AM

June 20, 2004

Muy Buen Camino


So, here we are, one week into our hike. The pain in our feet has finally begun to subside, or so it seems. The last two days of walking have been great. The mountains were a little bit smaller and the clouds have kept the sun from burning us too badly. We ran into our American friends again, one of them has decided to stay until July 5th to get as much of the Camino done as possible. We ate dinner with them last night, where I had the joy of discovering that pasta italianaactually means pasta with fish sauce on it. All in all it was a very entertaining dinner filled with talk about different movies and Nathaniel and Zach (from NC) throwing in how hot they think Brad Pitt is. We have become pretty attached to the other pilgrims here. Everyday as we arrive we wait for the others to come, or they wait for us, and then we all look a little happier to see the, now, familiar faces. I was rather surprised yesterday when Nathaniel walked out of the bathroom and asked me if i had ever wanted to pee standing up. This was only explained when i walked into the bathroom to find that instead of a toilet there was a very nice hole in the ground. Otherwise though, the place was very nice- it had large wooden beams across the ceiling in the room where we slept, as well as sheets covered with moons and stars. Everyone should be very happy to find out that I am nearly done with the first Harry Potter book, and it has indeed been a good read. I would have to say that being attacked by water balloons has been one of the highlights of the trip, but since Nathaniel has already described the event in great detail, I will leave you with only one piece of advice: Do not run at a bunch of kids unless you have some balloons of your own to throw at them. Well, I think thats all for now. The hostel we are staying at tonight is very nice. THere was fresh fruit waiting for us when we arrived and very friendly volunteers welcomed us. I hope everyone is having a great summer.

peace Christina
Posted by Christina in Europe on June 20, 2004 10:04 AM

June 27, 2004

Burgos and Beyond


**Sorry for the long duration between entries. Internet cafes were sparce in the (incredibly inexpensive and a little ancient) provence of La Rioja. We are back up though, having now walked a little more than 300km from our starting point in St Jean Pied de Port in fourteen days. I write from Castrojeriz** When you start the Camino de Santiago, they tell you, you become a Pilgrim, a Peregrino. You are irrevocably enjoined, they say, to an ancient lineage of similar kinetic experience. This trip is flooded with a sense of monumentality, as if the hugeness of history both attempts to crush you and raise you to the rafters simultaneously. When you first walk into the Santa Maria entrance of the Cathedral at Burgos, your eyes are drawn immediately to the ceiling. Beautiful limestone pillars steam upward and cast your gaze towards austere Rococco ornamentation. Somehow, humans of three centuries past were able to make thousands and thousands of tons of stone seem delicate. As you sit there, by the 25 foot high doors, light flitters through either side of the main cloister, which is the bottom of the Latin Cross-shaped builsing. Just below the windows are rows upon rows of carefully crafted arches, all decorated in awe-inspiring symmetry. Directly in front of you hangs a magnificent chandelier, at least nine feet tall and eight feet wide, by itself. It houses probably 200 candles (all electric now, of course). Behind that is the beautiful facade of the backside of the main Choir in which statues come together with mock columns and a massive Baroque oil paiting. It both demands your attention and confuses your eyes, for they know not where to turn first. Throughout the entrance, just a tiny piece of the whole, are peculiarities that make you swarm simultaneously with divided focus and wonder. Its like coming downstairs as a seven year old at Christmas to find an entire room of presents just waiting to be opened, and not knowing where to dive in first. The bell that chimes the hours is an automated statue named San Christo de Burgos who is famous for his mouth, which opens and closes as he makes the call to Mass. As 9 oclock bongs, people filter in, like the refracted light from the windows high above. You see people of all sorts here. There are matronly old Spanish women with long skirts and sweaters who clunk with age and grace on the arms of the cane-bound Spanish men. There are younger people as well. Many families enter, and you are as likely to see a little girl with pigtails and lightup shoes as you are to view the pious priest, clad in the black of his costume and the white of his collar and hair.

There are tourists as well. Indeed, you are one of them. They come from all the countries of the world. Some are respectful and quiet. Some are vulgar and silently castigated with sharp, reproachful glances. Most, it seems, are confused as to their proper place. They, we, are welcome in this place, but in what capacity? During visiting hours, we can pay our Euro to shuffle around the mostly unused Chapels, and maybe even sneal a few digital photos, although they ask us not too. We are even allowed to come to a Mass or two, however there, we are no longer allowed to be "touristas." No Touristas, read all the signs of the functional doors. How do we change so easily, then? Is it the money that we hand over or the memories and sacredness that we try to burn to film that makes us tourists? Is it our attempt to claim a piece of a history that is probably not our own? Is it simply an intangible willingness to give or participate rather than simply recieve and witness that makes us a Pilgrim, or at least, not a tourist? As you sit in the Santa Maria entrance of the Burgos cathedral, you breathe in questions of time immemorial with the granite cooled air. A sense of the gigantic swarms around you, yet there is a quiet, as well. There is a calm comfort in your own smallness in a world where we often try to be as big as we can be. Perhaps this is one of the comforts of faith: we like to understand our own place and order of magnitude in the Universe. There is comfort in knowing the boundaries of oneself. Yet as our history and our kicking-and-screaming history of progress can attest, in this knowledge there is also disquiet. We are nothing if not paradox. For now, the bell rings, San Cristo smiles and opens wide once again. The cathedral is filled with the singing of another Saturday Mass.
Posted by Nathaniel on June 27, 2004 12:20 PM

June 30, 2004

America...I love thee


When I started planning this trip, America was in shambles. Rumsfeld was tripping over himself apologizing for foreign policy ineptitude, the economy was barely floating in a tepid sea of commentator cynicism, rapidfire reelection optimism, and it seemed that every days news brought in new wheelbarrows of crap and confusion for us to wade through. I was hoping that, in going to Europe, I would find, or maybe simply remember, one of those things that makes America great and has kept her at the forefront of worth fighting for for so long. Who though that one of the first things to do just that would be nutrition?

Coming off of two years of Atkins-altered restaurant menus and low-carb candies, it seems that we in the grand ol US of A have realized just how fat we are. With instigation like the popular release of the film Super Size Me (in which an average man almost kills himself with a month of McDonalds), we may be on our way to realizing that even the skinny dudes are significantly more unhealthy than the scale suggests. So what about Europe? With rampant obesity and infinitely confusing food labels the American standard, what could the old world possibly do for my gestational patriotism? When we first got off the plane at Heathrow, we laughed at the subtle differences. Bathrooms were called Toilettes, the pound is the primary unit of currency, rather than a colloquial high-five gesture in which the two parties, excited about the success (often sexual) of one or both, pound together clenched fists as a sign of admiration, and the vending machines didnt sell anything bigger than a 16-oz soda. Back home, you could easily get a 20-oz carbonated hit, and the 24-oz size, with the cant fail slogan MORE FREE! was on its way. Paris, too, had shrunken soda. 1.5 Litres was as much as you could get in one bottle. And it showed. Some Parisian rumours are not true: they do not indiscriminately hate Americans, they are not unusually rude, and there men are not (at least, most of them) whussy, effeminate sex hounds. Other stereotypes hit a little bit closer to home. Everyone, for example, smokes. Almost without exception. Its like a Middle School guidance counsellors peer pressure nightmare. They are also, undeniably, and much to Fat-Mericas tourist chagrin, skinny. As you walk down the streets of Paris, you cannot help but notice tight shirts, well-fitted pants, and great asses (on both men and women alike). Perhaps it is a superficial emphasis on appearance, perhaps it is a diet comprised exclusively of absinthe and cigarettes. Whats for sure is that the people of Paris look great, in a teenage girl anorexia-inducing sort of way. Spain on the other handwell Spain is much fatter than youd think. I have been in this country for more than two weeks not, and my overriding impression is of a place where exercise and physical habits havent been able to keep pace with the culinary wonders of international free market consumption. So where to lay the blame? 1)Diet Traditional Spanish food is an absolute Atkins buzzkill. Panaderias (bread stores) abound, and are stocked almost entirely with starchy white baguettes and pasteries. Bars on any corner sell cheap bocadillos, a sandwhich on a giant baguette with your choice of Salami, Pork, Pepperoni and/or cheese. Delicious, but more or less devoid of useful macronutrients. Except in the best Supermarcados (which are never found in

the smaller towns and rarely in the bigger ones), it is next to impossible to buy fresh or even frozen veggies. The saving grace is fish, rich in Omega fats (cholesterol lowering) and protein. Pescadarias (fish stores) are omnipresent, but still, fish is, at most, a once every day or two sort of thing. Finding accessible, low-fat protein sources is effin hard. The newer additions are even worse. We have not been to a city yet where we didnt have our choice of pick and choose and buy as much as you can for really cheap candy stores. Its straight out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. In addition, the neighbourhood Almentacion and food store is lovingly filled with Dulce Sol (think Little Debbie) snack cakes, Nocilla (a chocolate-crme spread used like peanut butter) and bags of delicious, ready to go croissants. Only 1.09 for 2500kcal. Finally, this place is hotter than hell, and with that climate comes a national devotion to heladoice cream. It is a fixture of every bar, every supermarket, and even some stores that dont sell any other food. The blue signs that tell the prices of your favourite Nestles treat are visible from .5km away. 2) Moving and Timing In the same time that I have seen upwards of fifteen candy stores, I have seen only one small gym. Unlike America, it seems, the Spanish have yet to become fitness obsessed. Its a double-edged sword I suppose, but at least in the States, options abound. To confound things, the Spanish have, if possible, an even more metabolically ludicrous sleeping eating schedule than we do. Breakfast, it seems, is caf con leche and cigarettes. This can happen at any morning hour. Almuerza, lunch, is usually around two, and consists of a big meal, followed promptly by Siesta, the national nap time. In every city and town weve been to, the hours of 2 to 5 are basically shot because of Siesta. Stores close and the streets are absolutely deserted as everyone sleeps or relaxes through the hottest part of the day. Sleeping tanks digestion and thus, Almuerza goes partially unprocessed. Cena, dinner, is around 9 or 10, and on weekdays that means that both big meals of the day are followed quickly by sleeping. So it is that somehow, despite all my nutritional incredulity, I find myself longing for aisles upon aisles of fadinduced diet bars. I yearn for Gas stations that sell 101 different types of drinks, many of which are diet or even, healthy, if you know what to look for. I thinkof fresh lettuce and tomatoes a healthy red. I long for barbells and track shoes. I know how much of the USAs ostensible health is actually marketing, but I cant help but love the choice and variety it gives me. I snuggle down at night, after long days of walking, not to dreams not of family and friends, but of Powerbars and Chicken breast. Turkey, sprouts, and mustard on a whole wheat wrap Well meet again soon.
Posted by Nathaniel on June 30, 2004 02:02 PM

June 30, 2004

Welcome to the desert...

It has been a while since Ive been in an internet cafe! Today we reached the half way point between St. Jean and Santiago! Our walk was 40 kms long today, through the desert, and it must be at least 100 degrees outside. It was the most we have walked by 10 kms since the beginig of our trip, and those last couple kms in the sun make a world of difference. Although were all pretty tired, Nathaniel put it best when he joked about how we have finally established our physical superiority over the 60 year-olds people who have been right with us each day. The last week or so has been great. We finally saw what Spain looks like after 9 pm. We spent one night sitting outside with Zach, Jean-Baptiste (from france), Max (from Germany), and a few others from various places in Europe. We heard their stories and jokes, until an older man from Germany asked us to quiet down and we found our way to bed. We spent another latenight out in Burgos at their festival. We stayed with a wonderful french woman whose name is Marie-Noel because she was born on Christmas Eve. She cooked us dinner and then let us stay out until midnight so that we could see the fireworks and watch hundreds of people, of literally all ages, party the night away. The last couple days of walking have been a little more difficult because of the heat and the fact that the view has not been quite as wonderful as that of previous areas, but each town has had something new to offer. Two days ago Zach and I spent the afternoon at a large pool, which, despite the sunburn we walked home with, made for a wonderful afternoon. Well, it is almost 8 here, which means I should be in bed ;) I hope everyone is enjoying their summer! one last note- if any girls reading this ever get really desperate for a date, old men in Spain absolutely love 20 year-old American girls. love christina
Posted by Christina in Europe on June 30, 2004 02:21 PM

July 04, 2004

Light and DARKNESS


As we left Leon to the first hints of sun and the blue of cool morning cobblestones, Zach and I embraced in the classic "man hug." Its where you clasp hands like a standard handshake, but then pull the party in closer

(as if to hug) and lightly punch their back with the clenched fist. Its intimate while preserving masculinity, and is the departing gesture of choice for todays modern man. We have been traveling with Zach for something like two weeks now and its strange to say goodbye. It had become really comfortable; most people we met just thought the three of us had come together. But the Camino is about movement, and the one thing you have to do is keep going. From this side of Leon, it seems like everyone has a sense of the end of it. No longer is the standard question "When did you start?" We have moved on to "When do you think youll get there"s. At this stage, more of your new friends make sure they have your email, in case you get separated in the next few days. One guy we met, just-retired Jim from New York, already has an email group set up for all of his Camino Pals. Only 10 days away from Santiago, some people are starting to figure out what the trip might really be about for them. Sometimes its clear, but most of the time, "meanings" and significance of this walk are the sorts of things that cant entirely be explained. Human language is at best a representation, and this is the type of situation in which it tends to fail. Still, there is some consistency. Some have found that it is about new friends, new experiences, maybe starting a new part of their life. This is true both of the kids about to start working after college and the older folks just finished working and about to start relaxing. For others, its more traditional. They have come looking for grace, spirituality, Light. With a simple online transaction today, Christina and I affirmed that it was not Light that we were seeking, but indeed, THE DARKNESS! On July 15th, the entire city of Santiago de Compostela will be celebrating the Ano Santo (Holy Year) by rocking their friggin brains out with the most anachronistic band to hit the scene in years, Britains pleatherbound bad boys, the Darkness. Christina and I will be there, and we are pumped. The irony that drips through the weird confluence of modernity and history in this Pilgrimage to Rock is wonderful. To celebrate the completion of a devout personal and spiritual trek by screaming ones brains out with 15,000 others is going to be just about as weird (and awesome) as weird (and awesome) gets. Still, with ten days left, there are many more questions to be pondered and kilometers to be walked. At least now we have a soundtrack.
Posted by Nathaniel on July 4, 2004 04:08 PM

July 11, 2004

Tents are not good places for sleeping.

Soooo. After 3 weeks of warm showers and cozy beds, we finally reached the point on the trip where the pilgrims outnumber the cows in the towns and the floor becomes the next best place to sleep. Fortunatly we have also entered the most beautiful part of the Camino- Galicia. Contrary to my moms advice, I decided not to approach people in this province and tell them that their language is simply poorly spoken Portuguese. On our way through the mountains, we had the tempting opportunity to stay at a rather famous albergueunfortunately by famous albergue I mean a hut in the woods run by a completely crazy man who left his comfortable middle-class life in Madrid to open a refuge for pilgrims because he is a knight sent by God. Other interesting facts about Tomas include: he enjoys speaking about his past life; he has about 12 former pilgrims, who havent showered for as long as theyve moved in, living with him; some of the aforementioned former pilgrims like to walk around carrying axes. Nathaniel and I made a last minute decision to walk another 7 km to the next town rather than staying to hear about Tomaspast life- which much to our pleasure did not resemble the little hostel on top of the mountain (aka the setting for any horror film you have ever seen.) Actually, it was probably not quite as bad as our imaginations led us to believe on the 7 km we hiked past his little hut- but we came to the conclusion that the stories we had created would provide more entertainment than actually having stayed there. A few days later, we would have the pleasure of sleeping in a tent kindly set up by the army for the overflow of pilgrims. For some reason, it seemed like sleeping in a tent was not all-together a bad idea- we were wrong. Im not sure if it was the cold, the rain, or the thousands of 15 year olds running around screaming that made that night particularly memorable, but we survived and here we are. Walking for the last couple of days has been absolutely mind blowing. I had to purchase a winter hat and gloves to keep from freezing, but everything down to the cold weather and uncomfortable sleeping has been worth it. The views are amazing and the walks through the woods offer a sort of pleasure that leads one to imagine what life would be like if it was transformed into a Harry-Potter-like fairy tale. In two days we will be arriving in Santiago! I think Im just about ready to get there, especially now that the school field trips and families have begun their 5 day trips along the Camino. We are now left with only a handful of pilgrims who started their journeys as long ago as we have- instead the vast majority of people began walking only a few days ago. On a final note- I dont think Ive written since before we were in Leon, and thus have not had the chance to say that, while the walk between Burgos and Leon was long and 50 degrees warmer than would have comfortable, Leon is a beautiful city filled with outdoor markets and friendly people. Other than accidently entering what we have concluded was a porn internet store, I have nothing but good things to say about the city. We ran into Robert, who we met at the begining of the journey, which was a great surprise.

Unfortunately Zach ended his trip in Leon, which means he did not get to walk with us for the last couple of days which, as a I mentioned, have been amazing. The timer on this computer is counting down, so thats all for now. Hope all is well with everyone. Peregrino soy a santiago voy
Posted by Christina in Europe on July 11, 2004 12:07 PM

July 11, 2004

Camino de Santiago
I've discovered Spanish Summer Camp. It's called the Camino de Santiago. In the past two days, the average age of the pilgrim has dropped from 45 to 15. Everywhere you look, awkward barely-teenage guys sport their hip shaved-in-the-front-dirty-rat-tail-in-the-back haircuts and stylish acne as they hit on girls that are way WAY too young for me to say are hot (even though they are). Nighttime has become a veritible chorus of farts, giggles, burps, and voice-cracking Castillean (what they call the language we learn as Spanish). Christina and I have given up trying to arrive early to the Albergue to get beds. Theyre full before we reach half-way. Now well settle for anything Not-A-Tent. Everything is so different because we are in "almost there" range of Santiago. According to Catholic tradition, to recieve your Compostela (the reward for completing the trek), you must walk at least 100km. In the Middle Ages, this precious little certificate entitled you to 1/3 off of Purgatory time. In an Ano Santo (Holy Year, like this year, a year where St. James feast day falls on a Sunday), the reward is DOUBLED. Thats right, beautiful beautiful Indulgence. A pilgrim once joked that with it, you could commit one murder, or two armed robberies. Nowadays, it means a couple free meals around town, maybe a discounted rate on a flight home, and hopefully a lil something intangible, as well. Probably no murder though. Probably. All the same, the thing about the Camino is that its sort of a Rite of Passage for Spanish youth. For centuries, it was legally mandatory to do it. These days its just tradition, which might be just as powerful. So, Rite of Passage + 100km = H oly Crowded Camino, Batman. In the past three nights, weve become reacquainted with our good friend the ground, learned that the bicep can be a pillow, tested the limits of "odor resistant" travel underwear, showered in appendenge-shrinking cold, and remembered what its like to poop standing up over a hole.

At first I was a little frustrated. Who were these little punks, with no backpacks, no exaustion, and no blisters!? Forget that. This was p-i-l-g-r-i-m-a-g-e damnit, and if I didnt know exactly what that meant, I sure as hell knew what it didnt mean, and it didnt mean a high school sleepover. As the French say though Cst la Vie (pronounced: Sest lah Vee in American). I remember what its like to be a 15 year old; awkward, horny, pimply, annoying, constantly hoping that the next cool thing I did would be noticed by some member of the opposite sex, preferrably one interested in making out and maybe even a little light petting. Who am I to hate them for those same things now? Maybe this isnt in the "true spirit" of the Camino, but even St. James was 15 once. Im sure hes chill. Anyway, we drop on Santiago in 48 hours, so even the inconvenient parts are almost over. Besides, the odor-fighting drawers are better than their moneys worth so far. As for the appendage-shrinking showers, I ve got nothing to prove.
Posted by Nathaniel on July 11, 2004 12:07 PM

July 14, 2004

Roads with an end?


Santiago dances in shapes and colors. It is not monumental buildings, but ancient giants that move too slowly for us to notice. It is not wide-eyed travelers with blisters and knee braces, but a millenium and more of completion etched into the sweaty forehead lines of every pilgrim. As the backpack-clad tromp down the great stone steps toward the door where they will enter the Cathedral, as millions have before them, they share the same look. It is confused and resolute at the same time, as if know that "this is it" and wondering if, "this is it?" The city glows in twighlight golden. As the curtain falls on another day, the Gallego Celtic band sets fire to the Plaza do Toural. Lutes, wind, sunset, harps, bagpipes, drums, hair flung in dancing, muscles moving without command, long shadow light that fades to night. Its fairy tale music. Santiago burns in a world of Forms. It is not a city in a moment, but an endless stream of people irrevocably connected throughout the ebb and flow of centuries. I dont know what it all means yet. C and I will split up for the first time on Friday. Shes going to Lisbon; Im walking to Finesterre, "the end of the world" to medieval Europe. Well be back in Santiago on the 19th. Talk to you then
Posted by Nathaniel on July 14, 2004 05:44 PM

July 14, 2004

Coffee to go.
I had to take my shoes off about 1.5 km before we actually got to the Cathedral in Santiago. Of all the points on this trip where I thought every bone in my feet had broken, Im pretty sure this one was the worst; in fact, Id even guess that my feet hurt more at that point than any other single moment in my life. Thankfully, I could already see the tops of the giant building, and I knew that after 30 days of getting up at 5:15 and walking from one town to the next, we had arrived at our destination. We were no longer on the Camino de Santiago, we were actually there. Before leaving for Spain, I had more than one person warn me that every experience I had would be different from the way I previously imagined it. While they were right, there was no point along the way that struck me as unexpectedly as our arrival in Santiago. Im not sure why, but i dont feel finished. All along the way, in guest books, and spray-painted on walls, I saw that people had written excerpts from a poem that starts, Caminante no hay camino. It was basically about the idea that someone who is walking isnt following a path, but creating it as he goes. It makes sense in the way somewhat abstract or romantic verses make sense, but I guess now that Im here, and I dont know whether or not I feel done, I actually think I get it. Despite the fact that each person has followed a marked path here, it doesnt seem like everyone is finding the same ending. Well, even though it doesnt seem like an end, at least not yet, I can definetly say that Santiago has been awesome. The Cathedral is amazing from the inside and out, especially when it is overflowing with people during mass. The shops are all cute, and constantly running in to pilgrims that we met along the way has been one of the best parts of the journey. Well, thats pretty much it for now. Tomorrow night we will see the Darkness and friday Im off to Portugal! One last thought- to understand one major cultural difference between Spain and the US, you just need to look at coffee. You cant get coffee to go here.
Posted by Christina in Europe on July 14, 2004 06:15 PM

July 16, 2004

Better than in my dreams...

As the three-times-too-full bus bound for the Concierto del Millenio chugged out of the Plaza de Galiza, the air was filled with the smell of Hash and the sound of excited slightly-drunk Spanish teenagers sluring their way through loud renditions of Iggy Pop songs. The elegant pristine of the Camino was shattered. Last night was the first night of a three day concert festival set up by the Xunta de Galicia (regional government) to celebrate the upcoming Festival Day of St. James. Lilith, The Darkness, Iggy Pop, Massive Attack, and the Chemical Brothers. It was huge, and Spain showed up, big time. The paper this morning called it a "reinvention of rock!" and featured a giant picture of Iggy screaming as Iggy does. For Christina and I, it was all about the Darkness. It was long overdue; I had hearbreakingly missed them by a day at the end of Christmas vacation. Lots and lots of hours went into imagining what they would be like. Could they live up to my expectations? Seeing the Darkness for the first time is like losing 13 year old virginity to a middle aged prostitute with all your friends watching. For an hour, the quitent shredded, duck-walked, absured-english-accented, swore, and secuded me into falling in love with them all over again. It was better than I could have imagined. Do whatever you can to see them...immediately. Here is a tour schedule: Sunday 18 July: Feria de July, Jardines de Viveros, Valencia, Spain Tuesday 20 July: ChicoBum Festival, Parco Chico Mendes Borgaro, Turin, Italy Wednesday 21 July: Cornetto FreeMusicFestival, Roma Live, Centrale Del Tennis, Rome, Italy Friday 23 July: Paleo Festival, Nyon, Switzerland Friday 30 July: Storsjyran, stersund, Sweden Sunday 1 August: Ankka Rock, Helsinki, Finland

Anyway, Im in Negreira tonight recovering. Two more days to the Coast. Peace for now.
Posted by Nathaniel on July 16, 2004 12:27 PM

July 27, 2004

To the glory and splendor that was Rome...


"Trogdor?" she asked, looking at the name I had jotted down on her little sheet. "That's right. Trogdor." Her face screwed up with determination and confusion, the young Asian woman tried to think of how she would translate the name "Trogdor." The sun was setting in the Piazza Niccolo in Rome. I had just shelled out a Euro and indicated that I wanted my name written in Chinese, on the "Blue Dragon" template, please. I tried to keep a straight face and wondered how my life would be different had my parents named my "Trogdor Leigh Whittemore," rather than Nathaniel. This is the great side of tourism; the vacation part; the part where the biggest decision is whether to say your name is "Trogdor" or "Mayor McCheese." (The former won just because I decided McCheese wouldn't fit on the page.) Rome is a huge city. Unlike Forence (where we are now) or Cinque Terre (where we were before Rome) which are extremely pedestrian friendly and extremely tourism based, Rome has distinct parts that are for travelers, and other parts that aren't as great. Basically, its a huge city. The Piazza was wonderful. It had all the vacationistic things you could want: street hustlers, fake Dior Sunglasses, bad (and even a little good) street art, etc. We spent a few hours there, eating Gilatto and watching ugly dudes get their characatures drawn. As darkness fell, we decided it was time to make our way over to the Trevi Fountain, which we heard was really nice all lit up. Real good vacation tourism stuff. As it would happen, we were in for some shitty bad tourism stuff, as well. There are lots of schemes to get your money on the streets. One of the more successful ploys goes something like this. A friendly looking guy with a handful of roses and a big smile plastered on his face comes up to a couple and hands the girl a flower saying "take it, take it, its for you." The girl says "No, no, no" but the florist persists and eventually she takes it. As soon as it is in her hand, the vender turns to the guy in the equation and asks (really, demands) money. We knew it was coming before it happened, so when the young guy came up to us at the Trevi, Christina stuck her hands in our pockets and said "No" more firmly than most. Undettered, he shoved the flowers into her, at which point, I lost my cool (Rome is big, remember? I was stressed and a little tired), pushed his hand out of the way, and told him to Piss Off. In response, he COMPLETELY lost his shit, hit me open handed, and tried to hit my face with the roses. Not one to back down in a "lose your shit" contest, I told him to get the fuck away, or he'd be in trouble.

It was a stupid encounter. Stupid because an avoidable situation had blown up, maybe dangerously. A minute later he came up, looking for a fight. When I told him that I wasn't going to fight him, he told me he'd "see me later {because he} would remember my shirt." At that point, the cost-benefit calculator in my head tipped decidedly towards swallowing pride and away from getting shot. It took about ten minutes of talking and apologizing and vigorous slightly angry handshaking which eventually calmed to normalgrip chilled out situation over handshaking, but it turned out fine. It turned out that he didn't really like this job. He had come to Italy just a few years ago, wasn't much older than me, and sure didn't like having someone make him look like an even bigger asshole by smashing his arm to the side in a crowd of people and yelling for him to hit the road. I understood - pride sucks, and wounded pride is the worst. After all my talking about fighting and kicking ass, I ended up apologizing. Live to fight another day though, I guess. Anyway, Rome was pretty good, but nothing like Florence, where I'm typing now. More soon... Love and Roses smashed into your face.
Posted by Nathaniel on July 27, 2004 12:00 PM

July 28, 2004

Finally
Update: I just peed in the bidet. After 6 weeks of always picking the right hole to aim at, I finally messed it up. The worst part was the attempted correction midstream. Always double check. Always.
Posted by Nathaniel on July 28, 2004 07:15 PM

August 04, 2004

Heathrow Again
We've come full circle and are ending the trip exactly as it began: an absurdly long (overnight) stay at Heathrow, where the bathrooms are clean but the all mighty Pound crams our sissy, limp-wristed dollar down our throats with every soggy airport sandwhich we buy.

Even aside from the financial clobbering, we are ready to get back. We are ready to be home, if only to shed these clothes and the skunky poopsweat haze that has descended upon us. Don't just think this is a guy thing eithe; C smells like a barrel of fish heads as well. 5 more hours. Till we board the plane....mmmm
Posted by Nathaniel on August 4, 2004 10:13 AM

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