But, not even. You meet people, you hang out with people, and you do it all again tomorrow. This week's topic is:
Traveling Alone
Imagine complete liberty to do whatever you want, whenever you want, and nothing but the number in your bank account holding you back. Welcome to my current state. On July 25, 2007, my travel partner since London had to cut his trip short(er than mine) and left me high but not quite so dry.
It's easy being on your own. Today I woke up when my tent trapped in so much heat I couldn't bare to be in it anymore (just like the same way I woke up yesterday and the day before), I then wandered over to the people I've been hanging out with at the campground said hello and then went exploring. PS. if you ever get the chance to come to Lagos, Portugal, DO IT. It's bloody hot, but it's a pretty nice little place.
But I told you that to tell you this. Lisbon is not all it's cracked up to be. So, if you think that Lisbon is worth staying in for an extended period of time, I will disagree. But other than that...I really have nothing more to say. I'm entitled to an opinion and when you travel by yourself, you don't have to worry about much more.
(Sorry to cut this so short, but I have very very little time remaining on stupid pay by the time internet situation I am in.)
EDIT.
So here's the story, I suppose. I was going to leave that post just how it was, but to tell the truth, traveling alone is excellent. It's been one day since I wrote that other stuff and though it's nice to have freedom, I realised today on the bus while I had no one to talk to, no one to bicker with and no one to be in agreement or disagreement with about anything, traveling alone can also be lonely. I've met new people today and I'll probably add them to my facebook, as I have the ones from last night and the ones from tomorrow, but real friends only come along once in a blue moon, so even though you may love being on your own and at liberty to do whatever you want, really, everyone's just looking for a friend or two.
So cheers to everyone who I've shared drinks with, thanks to everyone I've talked to on the train or bus, and a special heartfelt muchas gracias de espana to all of the people who I have ever really been able to call my friends.
pps. Being back in Spain and able to communicate easily with the locals is sweet.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
What do you just say to me?
"Do you speak...?"
So this will be a straight up rant. I only have about ten minutes left on this internet and heading to the beach today makes the next internet stop questionable. This week's cultural topic is:
LANGUAGE
Many people study them, everyone speaks at least one (I guess except for maybe deaf people and I guess even deaf people can sign, which is kind of like speaking, but in the technical sense, not really). But I always find it unbelievable when people speak many.
I speak english and french and I'm fairly priviledged in that respect, being virtually fluent in both languages and I can get by in Spanish, which is nice. At one point last week I was bored not knowing what's going on, so I picked up a Spanish newspaper and understood a great deal of it. Unfortunately, local news from rural Spain doesn't really concern me too too much...and global news would have been more of an asset. But nonetheless, understanding and being understood are very very important.
Half the fun of being a tourist is getting around, and though this will sound pretty ignorant, but being in a different country with a language different from any that you speak is a real bitch. In Europe, though, people are brought up to learn at least two, if not more and usually if they speak more than two, they speak at least three really really well. Luckily for me, the most commonly taught second language is english. The third most commonly taught third language is french. So I'm well set up.
But there can even be differences in within the english language, the most apparent ones are between british english and american english, where the use of the "our" v. "or" suffix and "ise" v. "ize". Also, did you know the word "properly" isn't a properly used word in American? Yeah, I just learned that too. It wouldn't be correct.
But what the hell is correct, anyway? As long as we can be understood, who cares about anything?
So this will be a straight up rant. I only have about ten minutes left on this internet and heading to the beach today makes the next internet stop questionable. This week's cultural topic is:
LANGUAGE
Many people study them, everyone speaks at least one (I guess except for maybe deaf people and I guess even deaf people can sign, which is kind of like speaking, but in the technical sense, not really). But I always find it unbelievable when people speak many.
I speak english and french and I'm fairly priviledged in that respect, being virtually fluent in both languages and I can get by in Spanish, which is nice. At one point last week I was bored not knowing what's going on, so I picked up a Spanish newspaper and understood a great deal of it. Unfortunately, local news from rural Spain doesn't really concern me too too much...and global news would have been more of an asset. But nonetheless, understanding and being understood are very very important.
Half the fun of being a tourist is getting around, and though this will sound pretty ignorant, but being in a different country with a language different from any that you speak is a real bitch. In Europe, though, people are brought up to learn at least two, if not more and usually if they speak more than two, they speak at least three really really well. Luckily for me, the most commonly taught second language is english. The third most commonly taught third language is french. So I'm well set up.
But there can even be differences in within the english language, the most apparent ones are between british english and american english, where the use of the "our" v. "or" suffix and "ise" v. "ize". Also, did you know the word "properly" isn't a properly used word in American? Yeah, I just learned that too. It wouldn't be correct.
But what the hell is correct, anyway? As long as we can be understood, who cares about anything?
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Running with the WHAT?
The camino is over. This post is on time for my self-imposed deadline, which means after this post, I´m caught back up. After 22 hours on the train in 2 days, 13 hours in Pamplona, and back in Santiago in time for coffee, beer, and last night´s firework show, this week´s cultural topic is:
SAN FERMIN
AKA Running with the Bulls. Sounds dangerous, and with good reason. Because it can be. The day we arrived in Pamplona, July 12th, was the most brutal day of the entire festival this year: 7 gorings and some record number of injuries. But, this 40-something year old tradition springs from Spain´s bull culture and need to be macho...or something. On average, there are from 10-15 bull gorings every year and up to as many has 30-35 hospitalisations. All things considered, it´s really not all that bad. In the past 11 years, only one person has actually died from injuries sustained in running.
Spanish bull culture dates back to I don´t know when, the urge to stampede for 825m with 2 tonne bulls is I don´t know why, and the things you see about the actual running are much worse than it would seem, and the way the spanish police actually work every morning is unbelievable. If you do it smart, you won´t get hurt. The problem is, it´s not a calculatable risk. If a bull wants to turn on you, it will and there´s really nothing you can do about it, especially if you´re cornered. Thousands of people run everyday and most of them don´t get gored or hurt (in fact, most people who get hurt get hurt because someone in front of them falls, or they get tripped up, or they bang their head on a railing, or they jump over the fence and can´t catch themselves and end up with a bleeding face), they just run into the stadium and jump the barrier.
The biggest and best part about the eight day Sanfermin festival is the all night party, the parades, the concerts, and the people of all ages all dressed in white with red bandana and sache. Just a big party atmosphere and, of course since drinking in the streets is legal in Europe, the party goes all night long and in every possible street.
The actual stampede only lasts about 3 minutes, and starts at exactly 8am (which is strange because usually Spaniards are taking naps) with the firing of a rocket and the release of the bulls. It´s a easy deadline for all the people still out partying from the night before. In the pack, there are 6 fighting toros, which are chased by a group of non-dangerous hearding cattle to create a Stampede effect. The toros run because they want to be part of the group, but they´re also bread to kill, which is why they can be dangerous.
Animal rights activists are trying to put an end to the tradition, since they claim it´s mistreatment of the toros and blah blah blah. If you ask me, though, if you have enough time to think about animal rights, you have too much time to think. Tradition is tradition, right? After everyone and all the bulls are hearded into the main stadium, where the race ends, a baby toro with corked horns is released and people taunt it and play around and everyone has a little fun. Later in the evening (which is probably what the hippies don´t like), the 6 bulls are put to the true killing test when they go up against matadors in faceoff: the bull fight. Unfortunately for the bulls, the matadors always win.
People start the race from all different points in the course. Dale started from about 100m in. I also ran, but I started about 150m from the end, which means I didn´t actaully see the bulls until I was safely behind stadium guard rail. But, as soon as we figured out Dale wasn´t gored, hurt, stepped on, injured, or whatever, we were back on a train. Long day for a good story. Yeah, I´m hardcore too.
SAN FERMIN
AKA Running with the Bulls. Sounds dangerous, and with good reason. Because it can be. The day we arrived in Pamplona, July 12th, was the most brutal day of the entire festival this year: 7 gorings and some record number of injuries. But, this 40-something year old tradition springs from Spain´s bull culture and need to be macho...or something. On average, there are from 10-15 bull gorings every year and up to as many has 30-35 hospitalisations. All things considered, it´s really not all that bad. In the past 11 years, only one person has actually died from injuries sustained in running.
Spanish bull culture dates back to I don´t know when, the urge to stampede for 825m with 2 tonne bulls is I don´t know why, and the things you see about the actual running are much worse than it would seem, and the way the spanish police actually work every morning is unbelievable. If you do it smart, you won´t get hurt. The problem is, it´s not a calculatable risk. If a bull wants to turn on you, it will and there´s really nothing you can do about it, especially if you´re cornered. Thousands of people run everyday and most of them don´t get gored or hurt (in fact, most people who get hurt get hurt because someone in front of them falls, or they get tripped up, or they bang their head on a railing, or they jump over the fence and can´t catch themselves and end up with a bleeding face), they just run into the stadium and jump the barrier.
The biggest and best part about the eight day Sanfermin festival is the all night party, the parades, the concerts, and the people of all ages all dressed in white with red bandana and sache. Just a big party atmosphere and, of course since drinking in the streets is legal in Europe, the party goes all night long and in every possible street.
The actual stampede only lasts about 3 minutes, and starts at exactly 8am (which is strange because usually Spaniards are taking naps) with the firing of a rocket and the release of the bulls. It´s a easy deadline for all the people still out partying from the night before. In the pack, there are 6 fighting toros, which are chased by a group of non-dangerous hearding cattle to create a Stampede effect. The toros run because they want to be part of the group, but they´re also bread to kill, which is why they can be dangerous.
Animal rights activists are trying to put an end to the tradition, since they claim it´s mistreatment of the toros and blah blah blah. If you ask me, though, if you have enough time to think about animal rights, you have too much time to think. Tradition is tradition, right? After everyone and all the bulls are hearded into the main stadium, where the race ends, a baby toro with corked horns is released and people taunt it and play around and everyone has a little fun. Later in the evening (which is probably what the hippies don´t like), the 6 bulls are put to the true killing test when they go up against matadors in faceoff: the bull fight. Unfortunately for the bulls, the matadors always win.
People start the race from all different points in the course. Dale started from about 100m in. I also ran, but I started about 150m from the end, which means I didn´t actaully see the bulls until I was safely behind stadium guard rail. But, as soon as we figured out Dale wasn´t gored, hurt, stepped on, injured, or whatever, we were back on a train. Long day for a good story. Yeah, I´m hardcore too.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Finito
That´s Spanish for finished. Yup, the walking is over.
After one month and three days, we walked nearly the entire width of Spain, amounting to somewhere between 850-900km. It sounds like a lot, and well, that´s because it is. We took a total of 3 rest days, one in San Sebastian, one in Burgos, and one in Leon. It´s a pretty big deal.
We wandered into cathedral square last night around 8pm after a day of about 45km of walking in the Spanish heat, through fields that smell like manure, up and down dirt and concrete roads, and around herds of cattle driven by short little old ladies with no teeth. This week´s cultural topic is:
BEING A TOURIST
It sounds funny being in a foreign country where you don´t really speak alot of the language, you don´t really know where you´re going and you don´t really have a clue about anything except that you have to somehow find a place to sleep, find food to eat and figure out what you have to see while you´re in the town. But that´s where the fun is. Basically, that´s the definition of tourism. Seeing things, doing things and getting out of your own country.
But the Camino is different. People start from all sorts of different places, coming from as close in as 110km away or as far as France, Belgium, Norway, Switzerland or even Poland...on FOOT. Some people walk 15, some walk 20, some walk 35km everyday and some take days off. Everyone takes the camino at their own pace. Some people come out for a walking vacation and some people come to find themselves and clear out their minds before going back to regular routine and normal commitments. Some do it with friends from before, some make friends on the camino, and some could make friends but don´t. Everyone has their own Camino. Everyone is there for a different reason and everyone has a different story. The only real thing everyone has in common is that everyone just follows the yellow arrows and will eventually get there. That´s the beauty of being a pilgrim on the Camino.
I came to the Camino as a tourist, looking for a unique, inexpensive way to spend time in Spain and in Europe, but I ended up with way more. On the Camino, you aren´t just a tourist, you are a pilgrim.
I´ll be the first to admit it sounds a bit silly, calling yourself a pilgrim, just because you walk for 800km, but it´s a strange feeling and the sense of accomplishment is a greater feeling than the pain that you have to endure day in and day out, with the blisters, the muscle cramps, or just the everyday soreness that comes from walking all day. I also endured a detox period of no beer for 10 days, which, considering how delicious and refreshing an ice cold beer can be on a hot summer afternoon, made it pretty pretty difficult. But it´s over now. And it feels good.
The closer in we came to Santiago, the more prearranged church and youth groups came, and competition for beds was fierce and we came to somewhat resent the newbie pilgrims. They seemed like bloody tourists who were out walking for the week. But afterall, when we got into Santiago, we didn´t care anymore. In the grand scheme of things, it´s kind of nice that they could have the opportunity to join in something as big as the Camino.
For most people, it´s the end, but for me, sadly, it´s the halfway point, but when you walk for 33 days, you get to thinking. I can´t say I´ve actually figured anything out for sure, but thinking all day sure can be nice. In the last five weeks I´ve seen the best of myself and I´ve seen the worst, and it has been one of the coolest experiences I could have possibly had as part of my great big Europe trip.
I don´t really know how to end this thought, because I´m still kind of trying to grasp the concept that tomorrow I´m not going to have to get up at 6am and start walking. It´s a bit sad, yet at the same time relieving. I am no longer a pilgrim; I´m a tourist.
After one month and three days, we walked nearly the entire width of Spain, amounting to somewhere between 850-900km. It sounds like a lot, and well, that´s because it is. We took a total of 3 rest days, one in San Sebastian, one in Burgos, and one in Leon. It´s a pretty big deal.
We wandered into cathedral square last night around 8pm after a day of about 45km of walking in the Spanish heat, through fields that smell like manure, up and down dirt and concrete roads, and around herds of cattle driven by short little old ladies with no teeth. This week´s cultural topic is:
BEING A TOURIST
It sounds funny being in a foreign country where you don´t really speak alot of the language, you don´t really know where you´re going and you don´t really have a clue about anything except that you have to somehow find a place to sleep, find food to eat and figure out what you have to see while you´re in the town. But that´s where the fun is. Basically, that´s the definition of tourism. Seeing things, doing things and getting out of your own country.
But the Camino is different. People start from all sorts of different places, coming from as close in as 110km away or as far as France, Belgium, Norway, Switzerland or even Poland...on FOOT. Some people walk 15, some walk 20, some walk 35km everyday and some take days off. Everyone takes the camino at their own pace. Some people come out for a walking vacation and some people come to find themselves and clear out their minds before going back to regular routine and normal commitments. Some do it with friends from before, some make friends on the camino, and some could make friends but don´t. Everyone has their own Camino. Everyone is there for a different reason and everyone has a different story. The only real thing everyone has in common is that everyone just follows the yellow arrows and will eventually get there. That´s the beauty of being a pilgrim on the Camino.
I came to the Camino as a tourist, looking for a unique, inexpensive way to spend time in Spain and in Europe, but I ended up with way more. On the Camino, you aren´t just a tourist, you are a pilgrim.
I´ll be the first to admit it sounds a bit silly, calling yourself a pilgrim, just because you walk for 800km, but it´s a strange feeling and the sense of accomplishment is a greater feeling than the pain that you have to endure day in and day out, with the blisters, the muscle cramps, or just the everyday soreness that comes from walking all day. I also endured a detox period of no beer for 10 days, which, considering how delicious and refreshing an ice cold beer can be on a hot summer afternoon, made it pretty pretty difficult. But it´s over now. And it feels good.
The closer in we came to Santiago, the more prearranged church and youth groups came, and competition for beds was fierce and we came to somewhat resent the newbie pilgrims. They seemed like bloody tourists who were out walking for the week. But afterall, when we got into Santiago, we didn´t care anymore. In the grand scheme of things, it´s kind of nice that they could have the opportunity to join in something as big as the Camino.
For most people, it´s the end, but for me, sadly, it´s the halfway point, but when you walk for 33 days, you get to thinking. I can´t say I´ve actually figured anything out for sure, but thinking all day sure can be nice. In the last five weeks I´ve seen the best of myself and I´ve seen the worst, and it has been one of the coolest experiences I could have possibly had as part of my great big Europe trip.
I don´t really know how to end this thought, because I´m still kind of trying to grasp the concept that tomorrow I´m not going to have to get up at 6am and start walking. It´s a bit sad, yet at the same time relieving. I am no longer a pilgrim; I´m a tourist.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Edit: this now has a title.
I guess this post won´t be getting a title.
Alright, so here´s the scoop. I really have nothing interesting to write about...again. So I´m not going to waste your time or mine. But I WILL let you know a few things that are going on and I may in the meantime answer some questions you just might have. This week´s cultural topic is
NAPTIME
Kids take naps. Adults should not. But, in Spain, around 13:00 everything shuts down and people just go to sleep. It was originally something farmers did to stay out of the heat, but now, everyone does it. It´s as if Spanish people do as little work is as humanly possible but still somehow manage to live comfortably, of course, when you live in a town of 50 people, comfortable is not the same as if you lived in a real city. When the highlight of your town is the one bar that is open until noon and after 6, maybe you should consider moving.
In walking the Camino, I have taken on some Spanish characteristics. My hair is brown, I have dark eyes and I have a tan, but no, I am not at all Spainish. Yes, I am currently in Spain walking the Camino Santiago, but I don´t live anywhere. The reason I haven´t had the chance to write a post in more than a week and a half and was late on the last one by probably 4 days as well is because people in Spain apparently do not believe in internet. In fact, I have seen more fully functional computers in this country that are not connected to any kind of internet whatsoever than I even used to see before the internet existed at all in North America.
Spanish people from other regions say "this is the least developed part of spain". I sure hope so, because they still heard cattle with a big stick and loud yells.
People on the Camino like to be done walking before 3pm. This is fine, only when we walk 35km in the 35C heat, it would be nice to have a bed when we show up at the hostel 10 hours after starting. Lightweight newbies, that´s what we call them. But that´s also not the point. The point is, the only reason they want to get in so early is so that they can take a nap.
What if I´m Spanish and I´m thirsty at 3pm? Sorry, you have to wait for another hour or two. Hopefully you don´t die of thirst...which you wouldn´t if you just opened your stores all day long - not to mention worked more than 5.5 hours a day.
Maybe it´s a little unfair to say considering I haven´t worked in now over two months, but if I took a nap every time I got tired I´d still be in France, not 850km away. All this writing is making me tired, but that´s because it´s night time, and that´s where sleep belongs; at night, not in the middle of the day.
Alright, so here´s the scoop. I really have nothing interesting to write about...again. So I´m not going to waste your time or mine. But I WILL let you know a few things that are going on and I may in the meantime answer some questions you just might have. This week´s cultural topic is
NAPTIME
Kids take naps. Adults should not. But, in Spain, around 13:00 everything shuts down and people just go to sleep. It was originally something farmers did to stay out of the heat, but now, everyone does it. It´s as if Spanish people do as little work is as humanly possible but still somehow manage to live comfortably, of course, when you live in a town of 50 people, comfortable is not the same as if you lived in a real city. When the highlight of your town is the one bar that is open until noon and after 6, maybe you should consider moving.
In walking the Camino, I have taken on some Spanish characteristics. My hair is brown, I have dark eyes and I have a tan, but no, I am not at all Spainish. Yes, I am currently in Spain walking the Camino Santiago, but I don´t live anywhere. The reason I haven´t had the chance to write a post in more than a week and a half and was late on the last one by probably 4 days as well is because people in Spain apparently do not believe in internet. In fact, I have seen more fully functional computers in this country that are not connected to any kind of internet whatsoever than I even used to see before the internet existed at all in North America.
Spanish people from other regions say "this is the least developed part of spain". I sure hope so, because they still heard cattle with a big stick and loud yells.
People on the Camino like to be done walking before 3pm. This is fine, only when we walk 35km in the 35C heat, it would be nice to have a bed when we show up at the hostel 10 hours after starting. Lightweight newbies, that´s what we call them. But that´s also not the point. The point is, the only reason they want to get in so early is so that they can take a nap.
What if I´m Spanish and I´m thirsty at 3pm? Sorry, you have to wait for another hour or two. Hopefully you don´t die of thirst...which you wouldn´t if you just opened your stores all day long - not to mention worked more than 5.5 hours a day.
Maybe it´s a little unfair to say considering I haven´t worked in now over two months, but if I took a nap every time I got tired I´d still be in France, not 850km away. All this writing is making me tired, but that´s because it´s night time, and that´s where sleep belongs; at night, not in the middle of the day.
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