10-08-2012 Rabanal del Camino to Molina Seca

Today, real cheesecake. Fantastic cheesecake. When Cristina and I heard about the cheesecake, we immediately decided that it would be our dessert. What do you mean we already had dessert with our pilgrim’s menu? We can eat another dessert. I only ordered a coffee with the pilgrim’s menu anyway. Cristina is my bad-food partner, she helps me find the good stuff when we are shopping or, in this case, touring the city.

Hoy hay cheesecake de verdad. Un cheesecake increíble. Cuando Cristina y yo nos enteramos del cheesecake decidimos comerlo de postre. ¿Qué dices? ¿Ya hemos comido el postre con el menú de peregrino? Podemos comer dos postres. De todas formas, yo sólo tomé un café. Cristina es mi compañera de vicio, siempre me ayuda buscar los bollos más ricos cuando vamos de compras o, en este caso, dando una vuelta del pueblo.


Today’s hike loomed before us with the promise of one of the hardest descents of the Camino. None of us looked forward to the steep, 800 meter descent that came upon the far side of Manjarín. We decided to wake up early in order to begin our day, knowing the heat wave would continue and that the going would be slow as we climbed down the rocky trail. As Rafa, Cristina, Aitor, Sergio from Pamplona and I dragged our packs out into the hostel’s front room, we stared stupidly at the locked kitchen door. The breakfast we had purchased the night before was in the fridge… now out of our reach. We waited impatiently for one of the hostel workers to wake up.

El camino de hoy nos amenazaba por delante con la promesa de una de las peores bajadas del Camino. Ninguno de nosotros tenía ganas de la bajada inclinada de 800 metros que nos esperaba al lado lejano de Manjarín. Decidimos levantarnos pronto para empezar temprano, sabiendo que la ola de calor seguía y que nos volveríamos lento con la bajada empedrada. Cuando Rafa, Cristina, Aitor, Sergio de Pamplona y yo sacamos nuestras mochilas, sin embargo, nos encontramos con la puerta cerrada de la cocina. La comida que habíamos comprado ayer estaba en el Frigo, donde no la pudimos coger. Esperábamos sin mucha paciencia para que se levantaran los hospitaleros.


The first five kilometers of today’s hike was a steady climb to the top of Monte Irago. Here stands the famous Cross of Iron (Cruz de Ferro) where pilgrims have left a mountain of stones over the years. Each stone represents some personal doubt, problem, challenge or memory that pilgrim’s have carried with them and left at the cross. I considered opening my backpack and searching for the stone I was carrying, but it was not the stone I had originally picked up in France at the beginning of the Camino. That stone was lost somewhere, which means the personal doubt it represented must have also disappeared. The five of us climbed to the top of the mountain of stones for a photo.

Los primeros 5 kilómetros de hoy eran una subida constante hasta alcanzar lo alto del Monte de ERigo. Aquí está el famoso Cruz de Ferro, donde los peregrinos han dejado una montaña de piedras tras los años. Cada piedra significa una duda, problema, reto o memoria que los peregrinos han llevado y dejado en la cruz. Pensé en abrir mi mochila para buscar una piedra que llevaba por dentro, pero esta no era la piedra que cojí en Francia al principio del Camino. Esa piedra estaba perdida, lo cual quiere decir que el problema que representaba también ha desaparecido. Rafa, Cristina, Aitor, Sergio y yo subimos a lo alto de la montaña de piedras para una foto.






A few kilometers further along we came across an old hostel where a self-proclaimed templar knight now lives. The hostel was decorated with flags and shirts from all over the world. It is also characteristic for having no electricity, no running water and only gas burning stoves. We had expected this small village, Manjarín, to have some bar where we might eat a proper breakfast. Unfortunately, this bare-bones hostel was the only building in town. We sat down on benches in front of the hostel and searched through our packs for what food we could find. Fortunately, Cristina always carries a loaf of bread and enough meat for a small army, so we made sandwiches and drank from our water bottles. (I thought I was the only person who hid food obsessively.)

Unos kilómetros más por delante, nos encontramos con un albergue antiguo donde vive un hombre que se ha proclamado un templario. El albergue está decorado con las banderas y camisetas de muchos países. El albergue es conocido también por su falta de electricidad y agua corriente. Hay solamente hornillas de gas. Esterábamos encontrar algún bar en el pueblo de Manjarín donde podríamos comer un desayuno en condiciones. Este albergue tan rústico, Sin embargo, era el único lugar en el pueblo. Nos sentamos en los bancos por delante del albergue y buscamos por las mochilas la comida que nos quedaba. Afortunadamente, Cristina siempre lleva pan bimbo y embutido suficiente para un ejército pequeño. Nos hicimos bocadillos y tomamos agua de las botellas que llevábamos. (Menos mal que no soy la única que esconde comida por todos lados.)


As soon as our impromptu meal was finished, Rafa and I quickly prepared to begin our hike. From this point, the Camino continued climbing for 2 kilometers before beginning the descent we were dreading. AS Rafa and I quickly left town, we began whistling Darth Vador’s march.

Tan pronto como terminamos esa comida casera, Rafa y yo nos preparamos para salir. Desde este punto, el Camino subía dos kilómetros más antes de empezar la bajada que temíamos. Nos pusimos a silbar la marcha de Darth Vador mientras salíamos del pueblo.


It is much more difficult to descend a rocky trail than it is to climb. There is more risk of twisting an ankle or injuring a knee. Rafa became very nervous as the path grew steeper. In order to make the going easier, I walked behind Rafa and followed his backpack. In this way, Rafa only had to watch his own path. We moved slow and watched the bicycles fly by on the smooth highway 100 meters to our left.
When Sergio from Barcelona caught up with us, Rafa asked him if he would mind guiding me for awhile. I was very surprised. This was the first time since we began the Camino together that Rafa asked someone else to guide me. Normally, I stay with the same person during a stretch of the Camino, but now Rafa was asking me to go with someone else. I felt a little strange… sad, in a way.

Es mucho más difícil bajar un camino con piedras que subir. Hay más riesgo de torcer un tobillo o lesionar una rodilla. Rafa se volvió cada vez más nervioso tanto como el camino se puso más empedrado. Para que fuera más fácil de caminar, me puse por detrás de Rafa y seguí su mochila. Así, Rafa no tenía que mirar sus pasos y también los pasos que daba yo. Íbamos lentos y miramos con envidia mientras nos pasaban las bicicletas cien metros a la izquierda en la carretera.
Cuando nos pilló Sergio de Barcelona, Rafa le preguntó si le importaba guiarme durante un tiempo. Estaba yo muy sorprendido. Era la primera vez desde que empecemos juntos el Camino que Rafa había pedido a otra persona que me guiara. Normalmente, camino con la misma persona durante una etapa entera, pero ahora Rafa me pedía que yo fuera con otra persona. Me sentí raro y un poco triste.

This was the first time I had ever walked with Sergio from Barcelona and it was quite the path to begin. We climbed down paths that were slippery from loose rock. During long stretches, large and uneven rocks made uncertain stairs. There was no way any person could truly “guide” me down such a path. Instead, Sergio walked ahead and I did the best I could to follow where he walked. Despite the difficulty, I enjoyed the challenge. Walking over flat ground and even up steep inclines is easy for me; I have years of physical training behind me. These steep descents, however, these challenged me. I remained quiet and focused on the struggle not to break anything.
Sergio wasn’t sure how I would due on these trails. He asked me again and again, “Niko, how are you doing? Niko, am I going to fast, just tell me.”
“No problem,” I told him, “It’s a good speed.”
“Are you sure, I can go slower. Are you doing well back there?”

Esta fue la primera vez que caminé con Sergio de Pamplona y que camino para empezar. Bajamos por caminos que resbalaban con piedras sueltas. En otras partes, grandes rocas formaban escaleras irregulares. No había manera que una persona me “guiara” por un camino así. Sergio caminaba por delante y yo intenté tanto como posible seguir sus pasos. A pesar de la dificultad, disfruté del reto. Para mí, caminando sobre tierras llanas o subiendo por caminos bien empinados es fácil; llevo muchos años de entrenamiento físico por detrás. Estas bajadas, sin embargo, estas bajadas me costaban. Me quedé callado mientras intenté no romperme nada.
Sergio no sabía bien como iba yo por estos caminos. Me preguntó una vez tras otra, “Niko, ¿qué tal te vas? Niko, Si voy muy rápido tú me dices.”
“Sin problema,” le dije, “vamos muy bien.”
“¿Seguro? Puedo ir más lento. ¿Vas bien?”



After a time, I became frustrated with his constant questioning. It broke my concentration and took away the enjoyment I found in the exercise. “If you ask me how I’m doing one more time, I’m going to shove my cane up your ass,” I told him very honestly.

Después de un tiempo, me arte de sus preguntas constantes. Me rompieron la concentración y me quitó el placer del ejercicio. “Si me preguntas que tal me voy otra vez, te voy a dar por culo con este bastón,” le dije sinceramente.


Sergio finally stopped asking me how I was doing every five minutes. We began to develop a good rhythm and the difficult trail became enjoyable once again. Sergio from Barcelona is a physical education teacher who has had some training in working with people with disabilities. He was, nevertheless, very proud at being the first person to actually irritate me in the entire Camino.

Por fin, me dejó de preguntar cada cinco minutos. Cogimos un buen ritmo y el camino tan difícil se volvió un poco más divertido. Sergio de Pamplona es un maestro de educación física y parece que tiene experiencia trabajando con personas con discapacidades. De todas formas, estaba orgulloso de ser la primera persona de mosquearme en todo el Camino.


After several kilometers, Cristina finally caught up with us. It seems she had taken a wrong turn and followed that nice smooth highway during several kilometers. When she realized her mistake, she found the first opportunity to rejoin the Camino. When she caught up with us, she immediately shouted to me, “Niko! Come along with me!”
As is my rule, I abandoned Sergio for a nicer elbow. (Even though the path was too narrow to walk side by side.) “Niko and I are used to this,” Cristina explained to Sergio. With that, she doubled the speed at which Sergio had been walking and we left him behind.

Un poco más por delante, Cristina por fin nos alcanzó. Parece que había cogido otro camino y seguido esa suave carretera durante unos kilómetros. Cuando se dio cuenta de su error, buscó la primera oportunidad para retomar el Camino. Cuando nos pilló, me gritó, “¡Niko! ¡Vente conmigo!”
Como es costumbre, abandoné a Sergio para un codo más fino. (Aunque el Camino era demasiado estrecho para caminar uno al lado de otro.) “Es que Niko y yo ya estamos acostumbrados caminar juntos por ese terreno,” Cristina le explicó a Sergio. Y dicho eso, Cristina empezó a caminar el doble de rápido de Sergio. Dentro de nada, le dejamos por detrás.


In the afternoon Rafa and I chatted as we prepared our things before taking a shower. “I get really nervous on those trails,” Rafa told me. “I injured my ankle playing soccer a few months ago and I was really worried about it today. I didn’t want to injure myself even worse. It was just too difficult for me to watch both where you were walking and where I was walking.”
As I thought about it, I understood Rafa’s concern. I began to think how I would feel if Rafa had injured himself while I was walking with him. I would have felt horrible knowing that he hurt himself while he was trying to protect me. Even worse, if I had gotten injured--something I would have taken full responsibility for--I could not imagine how Rafa would have felt. He, of course, would have blamed himself even if I would not have blamed him. In a way, it makes me feel somewhat helpless, knowing that these people take responsibility for me when they choose to walk with me. That is why I am here, though, to feel a little helpless and to stare that feeling full in the face.

Por la tarde, Rafa y yo charlamos mientras nos preparábamos para duchar.
“Yo me pongo muy nervioso en esas bajadas,” me dijo. “Hace un par de meses lesioné el tobillo jugando al fútbol. Me preocupaba mucho hoy.; no quería volver a hacerme daño. Era muy difícil buscar un camino seguro para nosotros dos.”
Mientras lo pensaba, empecé a comprender sus preocupaciones. Pensé en como me sentiría yo si Rafa se hiciera daño mientras caminaba con él. Me hubiera sentido horrible sabiendo que se hizo daño intentando protegerme a mí. Aún peor, si me hubiera hecho daño a mí mismo—algo que yo tendría toda la culpa—Rafa se habría sentido muy mal. Rafa se hubiera sentido culpable aunque yo no le habría echo la culpa. De alguna forma, me siento impotente sabiendo que otra gente lleva la responsabilidad de cuidarme cuando decide caminar conmigo. Supongo que sea una de las razones por las que he venido al Camino; sentirme un poco débil y confrontar esos sentamientos.


Oh, then two German girls asked to take my picture. I am, according to them, “The most interesting guy we’ve met on the Camino!” Sorry, I have an ego which requires occasional attention.

Ah, y después dos chicas alemanas me sacaron una foto. Según lo que dijeron, yo soy, “El chico más interesante que hemos conocido en el Camino.” De vez en cuando el ego necesita su alimento.

The Journey Continues

Ever since completing the Camino de Santiago in 2004, I have always considered the possibility of returning as a solo pilgrim. There are many who believe that walking alone is the only real way to truly experience the Camino.



Eight years after completing the Camino for the first time, I find myself once again in Spain. Here is this backpack—heavier than what it should be, I’m sure—and these boots that clop far too loud. I have a metal bottle I won as part of a door prize five days before leaving the United States and a sleeping bag that will protect me from much colder temperatures than I will ever experience in July or August. I have with me the same two shirts I wore the first time I hiked, with the addition of a t-shirt that reads, “I’ve got mad Ninja skills” (a present from my Aikido instructor). I also have this digital recorder and this seashell and a badly bent cane. Could I be anything other than an American on the Camino de Santiago? Unlikely. I also have this idea:



It has always bothered me that I have never come to terms fully with the way people react to my blindness. Eight years ago, I was aggressive in my refusal of assistance when crossing the road. Five years ago I just swore in foreign languages at people who I thought were “overly helpful” as I walked the streets of Japan. Now I confine most comments to my inner dialogue. But the inner discomfort still remains. What makes me uncomfortable? There is no such thing as a clear answer when asking questions of the complex machinery that is our mind. Some days you are tired and things rub you raw. Other days you are feeling low and the wrong word at the wrong time can bring you lower. When I look at the heart of the matter, however, I know that I am uncomfortable with both the need to depend upon other people and the way these people will then view me. Weakness… a fear of weakness…




Here's looking fear in the face




I am undertaking a personal, and social, experiment. I am going to walk the Camino de Santiago alone. A blind pilgrim walking alone. The idea is to arrive to St. Jean Pied de Port at the frontier between France and Spain and explain to the other pilgrims my situation: I need help. In order to overcome my fear of dependence, I am forcing myself to depend upon complete strangers. There is no way I could possibly follow the yellow arrows painted on walls, trees and signs without a guide. I therefore intend to ask for guides along the 700+ kilometers from France to Santiago de Compostela.

I do not believe that finding guides will be a problem. In fact, I worry more about liking my guides too much to seek out new ones each day. The challenge will also be in keeping patient and understanding with people who may doubt my ability to hike. This is, after all, a personal challenge.



I hope to maintain the blog during the approximately 35 days of the Camino. I will not, however, sacrifice time I could be spending with other pilgrims to update the blog. So posts might end up coming in three day increments. I had hoped to begin the Camino with some question in mind… something important to ask each fellow pilgrim. Though I have one or two ideas, I think I will let circumstances dictate both the direction of the blog and of my thoughts. You follow the Camino, after all, the Camino doesn’t follow you.


I should be beginning the Camino on Wednesday, July 18th. This is assuming that I catch every train and bus between Malaga and San Jean.
Five days and counting!

The Beginning

“A pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago told me, upon the completion of my 300-kilometer journey from León, “Celebrate tonight and enjoy yourself. It will be three weeks before you appreciate what you’ve accomplished.” Two weeks and more of experiences cannot be condensed into the single moment of entering the Cathedral of Santiago. Now, more than six years later and ten-thousand kilometers from Spain, the thoughts and feelings I experienced while walking the Camino are still present in my mind. The path I began walking on May 14th, 2004, is one that I continue today. The Cathedral of Santiago was a stop along the way – one which I have revisited since and will return to again – but the road has continued for as long as I have cared to walk.” (March, 2010; taken from an article I published in “Following the Yellow Arrow; Younger Pilgrims on the Camino”)



I first heard about the Camino de Santiago in a Spanish history class at the University of Michigan during my sophomore year. When our graduate student instructor mentioned that two professors were organizing a group to hike the Camino for the following summer, I turned to a friend and said, “I’m going.”
The GIEU—Global Intercultural Exchange for Undergraduates—is a program which organizes trips for undergraduate students to travel and work, in some way, to “build international community”. In 2004, one of the sites for the GIEU program was to be the 300-kilometer stretch of the Camino de Santiago beginning in Leon and Continuing to Santiago de Compostela. Student Pilgrims were to think about the ways in which community developed along The Way as they hiked, interviewed other pilgrims, and prepared meals nightly to share with fellow travelers. The Camino, however, is a very powerful experience that one can not simply analyze. Each of the fourteen pilgrims selected for the GIEU trip had his or her own personal strengths and weaknesses and, therefore, traveled his or her own, personal path.

My own personal strength and weakness were somewhat opposing sides of the same coin. At the age of seven, a pseudo tumor cerebri (a “false brain tumor) caused cerebral fluid in my head to put increasing pressure upon my optic nerves. The nerves were pinched so tightly that blood and nutrients were unable to adequately circulate; in essence, the nerves were starved to death. Although several surgeries including the installation of a LP Shunt (in the stomach and lower back) were able to finally reduce the cerebral pressure, I was left completely blind.
Blindness has always been the driving force behind my active life. Besides walking the Camino de Santiago in 2004, I have also spent eight months studying abroad in Chile, two years working in Spain as an English conversation assistant, worked in Japan for two years on the JET program and finally spent an additional year in Japan training at the International Budo University where I earned my black belt in Judo. But blindness has always been my greatest source of self doubt as well. With each new adventure, I wonder how I will be able to make things work. Each time a stranger offers me a helping hand, I can’t help but feel it is offered in condescension. I have struggled to maintain a sense of independence while placing myself in ever more challenging situations. I have struggled to understand that “help” isn’t always an expression of doubt.
The Camino de Santiago was my first real experience living and traveling abroad. It was the chance I needed to truly test my abilities: finding my way around new places, using limited vocabulary in a foreign language to express myself and dealing with peoples’ reaction to my visual impairment. These were all skills I would need if I were to have the international lifestyle I wanted. I gradually developed strategies to deal with these challenges on the 300-kilometer journey. When I arrived to each new hostel, I immediately asked the location of the bathroom. This was the most basic and important of daily necessities, so I wanted it out of the way. I then paid attention to the sounds and movements of the pilgrims around me. As I listened to the other travelers go about their daily rituals—washing clothes, preparing meals—I could quickly develop a sense of the layout and structure of each new environment. To make finding my bed or sleeping-mat easier, I began leaving my backpack at the end of the mattress. I could then let my hand drift along the foot of each bed as I entered the room until I brushed past my own space. I learned how to problem solve and adapt.
Although I found it relatively easy to deal with new places, dealing with new people was somewhat more challenging. As pilgrim after pilgrim expressed concern or, even worse, admiration at a blind traveler, I found it increasingly difficult to maintain my own sense of self esteem. When one woman gave me a polished walking staff, I held it just until we were out of her sight before passing it off to another member of our group. Another man asked simply to hold my hand for a moment as we entered an albergue nearing the end of our Camino. I was not prepared for this type of treatment; for someone who has always tried to blend in, being singled out is very discomforting.

“I arrived in Santiago on May 30th, 2004, having learned two important things about myself. While walking in the streets and plazas of this beautiful city, I was greeted by pilgrims I had met along my three-hundred kilometer trek from Leon. Amid their congratulations and well-wishes, I realized I had the strength to travel and live the life I desired. I had developed the skills necessary to adapt to new and unfamiliar surroundings, and I had found the confidence I needed to explore these places independently. But as I was stopped on the steps outside the Cathedral of Santiago by a French man who placed both his hands on my chest and wanted simply to meet me, I was forced to admit that I was not fully comfortable with how people reacted to my visual impairment. In truth, I was not yet comfortable with my own feelings toward blindness.”


During the two years I worked in Spain—October 2006 through May 2008—I volunteered for the local Camino de Santiago association in Malaga. Besides helping pilgrims fill out credentials and prepare for their trip, we also hiked parts of the Camino Mozarabe from Malaga to insure the path was well marked and clean. I also returned to Santiago along the Camino Portugués with a friend. I have always had a lingering desire, however, to return to the French Camino and walk the entire distance from the French border to Santiago.