Chapter 12: Blisters are real but Decathlon saves the Dia.

Well hello.

It’s been a few days. We didn’t want to have any gaps, but alas, tragedy has struck and Becky got some INSANE blisters yesterday. They were so bad she was limping by 7kms and needed some immediate help. The Spanish were good enough to amputate and told her they’d give her a Wal-Mart cart to make it to Santiago de Compostela.

Just kidding. She did need some blister help though, and we made it about 7 kms before it got so bad she couldn’t make it further. She and I left Gary to his walk and cabbed about 5kms to Estella, which was the nearest big city (or ciudad!) from us.

But don’t let me get ahead of myself…let’s rewind to where we last posted from…Zir

We left that morning and began our day expecting a Roman Bridge which was listed on the itinerary in the Camino literature. The first bridge out of town looked vaguely Roman and so we oohed and ahhed at it for a while.

In typically tourist fashion, we assumed incorrectly. This was not the bridge. Old? Yes. Roman? Maybe.. The “Roman Bridge”? Not at all.

We walked for another hour or so and came across this, a far more impressive specimen labeled “Roman Bridge” and we again oohed and ahhed, this time at the correct historic remnant.

Our next detour was actually quite lovely. It was an 11th century Church supposedly built by the Knights Templar. It was an octagonal building, well manicured and tended by a man who spent a good 15 minutes trying to start a chainsaw. Eventually he nailed it. We ate an apple and continued on our way. Unfortunately this church was closed. We were told that inside is even more impressive.

The walk there was stunning. Gary was keeping a great pace and we stopped for a latte in a small village that was WAY on top of a hill before moving onwards and upwards to the next town.

The next town was called Puente de la Reina. It’s a midsized town that boasted a few amenities and some interesting sights. What we didn’t expect was that this:

Contained this:

Every building in Northern Spain is elaborate and fancy outside, and churches are a fixture here, so we thought nothing of this little church. We happened by a lady who told us that we should go inside and look around.

We just couldn’t believe it. It was so massive, golden and detailed. Completely covered in gold and carved rock, it must have been 40 feet high. Absolutely stunning.

We left for the next little town, after our little church visit.

It was there that the problems began. Becky had been limping, but insisted she was okay, and finally the dam broke and she took off her shoes to show us her feet.

I love Becky, so I won’t be too graphic here, but her feet looked like absolute hamburger. I felt awful for her, and we holed up in a little Cafe and ate a sandwich while we waited for a cab. We were told it would be 40 minutes. It took about 30 for Becky to stop apologizing and feeling bad for having to take a cab 5 kms. The truth is, without working, comfortable, blister-free feet, this walk is arduous. She would have been down and out for 3 days if she’d have done the last 5 kms, and frankly, with the state of those little piggies, I’m surprised she did the first 10. Really goes to show how tough she is. Gary and I had no idea until she stopped.

The cab driver was the nicest man I’ve ever met. Being a driver on the camino, he must have realized most people don’t call a van unless they need it. He helped her with her bags and though he spoke no English, my meandering Spanish got us to our sweet salvation: Estella.

Estella came correct with a place called Decathlon. I haven’t really been to many places where Spanish one-stop shopping is done, but if there was a Canadian equivalent, it would be Sportschek. This place had EVERYTHING.

I made Becky promise me she would buy with her logical brain and not her immediate impulse, and she picked out a pair of shoes that were 2 sizes too big, and loaded with padding. What’s funny is that they were about 60 CAD and don’t look particularly outdoorsy. We purchased and once those shoes were on her feet, we not only walked to our hostel for the night, but she kept insisting she could have tap-danced there. It was actually kind of impressive.

Oddly enough, on the way there, we passed…yep, you guessed it…Gary. He was making for the edge of town and fast. He insisted there was an Albergue there, and we would meet up in the morning.

We pressed on to our place, and after some tense negotiations with the owner, we got our room, our sheets, and a call from Gary saying that no such Albergue existed and he was in a pinch. I asked the owner if the last room in the place was booked and she agreed it could go to Gary. He was on his way and we made a night of it. Pizza and wine, blister bandages and solid, uninterrupted sleep.

We don’t have any pictures of Estella because we were patching up Ol’ Hammertoes, but Estella was cute, and after some wine and rest, Becky was fit as a fiddle. I’ll do today’s adventure as another post, because I’m positive you’re sick of reading.

So, another one coming at you soon! Thanks for reading and following along and hope everyone back home hasn’t sold our stuff!