Kiwi on the Camino: A Walk That Changed My Life

By Vivianne Flintoff

What is it that is motivating thousands of people to leave behind the comfort and securities of home, put heavy boots on their feet and a pack on their backs, and head off to walk the route known as the Camino de Santiago, or the Way of St. James, following in the footsteps of the hundreds of thousands of people who have walked the Camino down through the centuries?

In 2014, Vivianne Flintoff took an extended leave of absence from her place of employment to walk both the Camino de Santiago and the Camino Finisterre. With her husband, Bruce, she began the seven-week, nine-hundred-kilometer (five hundred miles) walk at St-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France, crossed the Pyrenees, and walked the French route to Santiago de Compostela. Two days later, Vivianne and Bruce put their boots and packs back on and headed off to walk the remaining one hundred kilometers (sixty-eight miles) to Finisterre on the Atlantic Coast, to the beach where legend has it that St. James preached and to where his disciples brought back his decapitated body.

In Kiwi on the Camino: A Walk that Changed My Life, Vivianne courageously, honestly, and with humor tells of the pain, (she badly sprained her left ankle just three days before beginning the Camino), fears, anxieties, challenges, fun, and friendships encountered along the Way of St. James. Her life is radically changed at the completion of this epic walk. Viviannes meditations shine light upon her inner criticisms, and gradually, with each step, she lets go of self-judgment and becomes self-compassionate. Vivianne comes to a place of life transformation, where she is no longer prepared to live a highly stressed life. Her journey speaks to the many people struggling to juggle the complex demands that a contemporary life requires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504382533

Vivianne Flintoff

Vivianne Flintoff was educated at the University of Waikato. She has worked as a school guidance counsellor, manager of a social service agency, clinical leader and counsellor-educator. Vivianne has published professionally and in the New Zealand Walking Magazine. She divides her time between Coromandel, New Zealand and Granville, OH, USA.

Book preview

Kiwi on the Camino

A Walk that Changed My Life

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VIVIANNE FLINTOFF

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Copyright © 2017 Vivianne Flintoff.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

AMP: Scripture quotations marked AMP are from The Amplified Bible, Old Testament copyright 1965, 1987 by the Zondervan Corporation. The Amplified Bible, New Testament copyright 1954, 1958, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

MSG: Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from The Message. Copyright 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8252-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8254-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-8253-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 06/17/2017

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Disclaimer

Introduction

Part 1

Auckland to London

London to Pollensa, Mallorca, Balearic Islands, Spain

Barcelona, Spain to Saint- Jean-Pied-de-Port, France

Part 2

St-Jean-Pied-de- Port to Valcarlos

Valcarlos to Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles to Zubiri

Zubiri to Pamplona

Rest day Pamplona

Pamplona to Uterga via the Mountain of Forgiveness

Uterga to Estella

Rest day in Estella

Estella to Los Arcos

Los Arcos to Viana

Viana to Navarrete

Navarrete to Azofra

Azofra to Grañón

Grañón to Belorado

Belorado to San Juan de Ortega.

San Juan de Ortega to Burgos

Rest day in Burgos

Burgos to Hornillos del Camino

Hornillos del Camino to Castrojeriz

Castrojeriz to Frómista

Frómista to Villalcázar de Sirga

Villalcázar de Sirga to Carrión de Los Condes

Carrión de Los Condes to Terradillos de los Templarios

Terradillos de los Templarios to Calzadilla de Los Hermanillos

Calzada de los Hermanillos to Mansilla de las Mulas

Mansilla de las Mulas to León

Rest Day in León

León to Villar de Mazarife

Villar de Mazarife to Astorga

Astorga to Santa Catalina de Somoza

Santa Catalina de Somoza to Rabanal del Camino

Rabanal del Camino to Molinaseca

Molinaseca to Cacabelos

Cacabelos to Trabadelo

Trabadelo to O’Cebreiro

O’Cebreiro to Lusio

Lusio to Samos

Samos to Sarria

Sarria to Portomarín

Portomarín to Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei to Arzúa

Arzúa to Lavacolla

Lavacolla to Santiago

Day 2 in Santiago

Santiago to Negreira

Negreira to Santa Marína

San Mariña to Cee

Cee to Finisterre

Part 3

Finisterre – Cape Finisterre

Postscript

Glossary

Bibliography

Dedication

To Bruce in gratitude for shared life-journeys with companionship and friendship along the way.

Acknowledgements

No act of kindness,

No matter how small,

Is ever wasted.

Aesop (5th century BC)

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I GIVE THANKS TO THE Author of light, life and love.

Apart from myself, the other person who appears frequently in this Camino account, is Bruce, my husband of some thirty-nine years, companion on my life-journey and fellow pilgrim. Thank you, Bruce, for being with me, for sharing our pilgrimage journey and for unconditionally accepting and loving me.

Other authors have written that it is the people one meets on The Way of Saint James (The Way) that enhances and deepens the pilgrimage experience. I agree. It was the people I met along The Way that enriched, not only my pilgrim journey, but also my life as I now currently live it.

Thank you to all those who live and work along The Way and who give generously of hospitality, kindness and friendship. Thank you to the pilgrims who belong to the Confraternity of St James, who volunteer time and energy each year to assist pilgrims along The Way. Amigos de Santiago de Compostela (Friends of The Way) maintain the waymarking of the route. Thank you also.

Waymarking is essential, but so also were the invaluable guidebooks of both John Brierley and Jaffa Raza. I studied and marked both guidebooks, for two years, when planning for the Camino. In the end, I carried Brierley’s book with me, as I appreciated the stage maps and the depictions of the elevations for each stage. However, I have drawn upon both guidebooks when writing this book for in places, my notes and memory were either inadequate or quite failed me.

Thank you to past pilgrims who kept the faith and traditions alive. To current fellow pilgrims, adventurers, and those on the road for the training exercise, thank you for your contributions to my journey and to my deepening spiritual and self-awareness.

Thank you also to those who faithfully read my blog and followed our journey along the Camino Way. Thank you for your encouraging comments in response to my blog entries. The responses made me feel connected with those at home in New Zealand and with our new friends as we met, then separated, on the Camino. Your responses encouraged me to think that you enjoyed my writing and this encouragement, has in part, contributed to my having the courage and audacity to craft this book.

I also thank the writers of travel books from which I have derived many hours of pleasure. You have inspired me with your courageous and often humorous accounts of your journeys.

Thank you to the Coromandel Writers’ Group for your encouragement of my writing attempts.

My thanks also to those who read either part or entire drafts of Kiwi on the Camino: A Walk that Changed My Life - Robyn Cresswell, Rosemary de Luca, Rodney Denham, Catherine Fife, Bruce Flintoff, Stacey Flintoff, Mike Jerebine, Robyn Jerebine, Marianne Lammers, Reg Nicholson, Elaine Riddell and Wendy Talbot. Your encouragement and critical feedback has been invaluable. My thanks, also, to Robert Flintoff for the creation of the map.

Thank you to Hannah Ermac, Marisa Matires, Peter Le and team at Balboa Press who journeyed with me through the throes of presenting this book in its final form. Thank you for encouragement and support through the publishing journey.

Disclaimer

One man’s way may be as good as

another’s but we all like our own best.

Jane Austen (1775-1817)

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K IWI ON THE CAMINO: A Walk that Changed My Life is not a practical, factual handbook to assist any would-be walker of the Camino Frances (the French route to Santiago) or the Camino Finisterre (the path from Santiago to Finisterre). However, I have at times interwoven some facts because they interested me. If there are errors with any of the more verifiable information, these mistakes are mine.

My story is threaded through with fragments of other pilgrims’ stories. If in reading my account, you recognize your name and yourself, then it is you of whom I have written. My inclusion has been intentional and the use of your name has been with your permission. If, on the other hand, you recognize yourself under a different name, that is because I have not known how to contact you to ask permission to use your name. In whichever category you fit, I trust my representation of our shared stories concurs with your memories. I also hope that in reading this account, your memories will be rekindled and that your retrospective enjoyment of our shared journey along the Camino is enhanced.

While Kiwi on the Camino: A Walk that Changed my Life is not an academic work, I have included a bibliography. Each of the books listed there have been an inspiration and have helped shape my life. Furthermore, I have drawn upon material in each of the listed books and have integrated it into this narrative. It may be that other books have also influenced what follows in these pages and if they are not included, that is my oversight. Books after all are my friends, and while I do not consume my human friends, I do devour books.

I have included some Spanish, French and Te Reo (Māori language) and trust that my translations, which appear in the Glossary, are as close as is possible given the cultural nuances of each language.

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Introduction

We cannot know ourselves in this

life except through faith and grace.

Julian of Norwich (1342 – 1416)

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K IWI ON THE CAMINO: A Walk that Changed My Life is an account of my Camino story threaded through with some personal life experiences. As author, I necessarily write of the walk from my perspective, but Bruce and I walked together as a couple and I interweave our individual and shared experiences. Our Camino walk of some nine hundred kilometres (five hundred and sixty miles) began in the picturesque Basque town of St-Jean-Pied-de-Port on the French side of the Pyrenees, took us westwards over the mountains and across northern Spain, to the sacred pilgrim site of the Cathedral of Santiago, then on to Finisterre with a final short walk to the lighthouse at Cape Finisterre on the Costa da Morte (Coast of Death) where the province of Galicia meets the Atlantic Ocean. It is highly probable that St James the Apostle first landed in Spain on the Praia de Langosteira - the two-kilometre beach just south of Finisterre - to proselytize the pagan Spanish. The thousand-year-old Christian pilgrimage to Santiago and onwards to Finisterre runs directly under the Milky Way. This ancient trail was also a pre-Christian pilgrimage. Both Celt and Roman also walked under the Milky Way to the Costa da Morte, to watch the sea consume the sun and to worship at the Ara Solis , the Phoenician altar to the sun. ¹

One of the early decisions made when planning for our Camino was that we would walk at a pace our bodies required and enjoy the journey without rushing towards a deadline imposed by a pre-booked plane ticket. The journey itself was to be our goal and prize. However, every journey needs an end and for Bruce and me, the end would be Finisterre, with an important stopover at Santiago. We came to appreciate the no-time-pressure decision as we journeyed along The Way.

We also made the decision to take-it-easy because Bruce suffers with some health challenges as the result of a traffic collision. A drunk driver smashed head-on into Bruce’s car at 100kph. Bruce hit the right side of his head during impact. Our lives changed dramatically after this accident. I gradually picked up tasks and responsibilities that Bruce was no longer able to manage. Over time I became the primary income earner. Our relationship as a couple changed with the need to respond to new challenges. However, like all relationships, the space between us is constantly re-negotiated in response to ongoing life changes.

Due to his condition, Bruce needs frequent rest to manage physical pain, stress responses and subsequent exhaustion. The Camino would be a major challenge for him. Therefore, we planned to stay in some places for a couple of nights so Bruce could have a rest-day to sleep and rejuvenate. While I agreed with our take-it-easy plan and despite our solid relationship, prior to beginning our walk I harboured a fear that in taking it slowly, I would become frustrated and angry with dawdling.

Like many women today in so called developed countries, my daily life pre-Camino, was fuelled by adrenalin and cortisol. I worked long days, some evenings and some weekends. My time was always limited, under pressure and consequently parcelled out in spare amounts. My work space was an open plan office and as an introvert I found that exhausting. In my daily life, I had very little time to think, precious little time for solitude and had become incapable of relaxing. With ongoing high levels of cortisol caused by stress.² I suffered from frequent recurring infections, requiring antibiotics to enable me to continue working. While planning for the Camino, I came to the place of knowing I was emotionally bankrupt and physically exhausted. I needed to walk the Camino as a time-out from the many demands of my complex life. To give me this time-out and to give us time to visit with family living overseas, I took eleven months’ unpaid leave from my place of work.

Bruce and I have a very full family life. We have three married sons and six grandchildren. Our family is very important to us both and we try to spend as much time as possible with them all.

Given my overly busy life, Bruce and I had not had many days at a time in each other’s company for a long while. Our Camino would be a gift to ourselves, giving us time to be together to reflect on our lives as individuals and as a couple. However, despite our acknowledgment of wanting time together, prior to leaving home I had a further anxiety. Would our relationship take the strain of day after day in each other’s company in possibly difficult conditions? Moreover, when we trekked in Nepal, Bruce’s sister and her husband were part of the group and our brother-in-law was the one who would support Bruce to keep moving each day. Would I be able to remain generous and kind, giving Bruce the support he needed for the duration of the walk? Or would my inability to take it easy and relax reveal itself as frustration and anger, potentially sabotaging the trip and our life as a couple?

PART 1

Auckland to London

…..I shall make all things well;

and you shall see for yourself

that all manner of things shall be well.

Julian of Norwich, (1342 – 1416)

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C OMING FROM SO FAR AWAY, from the island nation of New Zealand in the South Pacific and travelling to Europe, is a big deal for us both. Just the flight itself is a challenge. The long-haul flight from Auckland to London takes twenty-six hours including the brief stopover at Los Angeles. We plan to stop over in London for a few days to help us begin to get over jet lag before flying on to Palma de Mallorca, Spain, where my younger brother Wayne and his wife, Julia, live. On our arrival in London, I begin thinking about travelling to Palma and realise that there is just one-time zone difference between the two cities. Our three-night stopover in London will do little to alleviate our jet lag.

A further surprise awaits us on our arrival in London. It is cold! Back home I had done a rough reckoning of seasons. When it is summer in the northern hemisphere, it is winter in the southern. Therefore, (early) autumn in New Zealand would mean (early) spring in the north. It is barely spring. London feels as cold as a winter’s day back home. Nonetheless, we are grateful for three days of sunshine and enjoy the few early daffodils which are in bloom. Wordsworth would have been delighted with them. Our trips on the London underground bring us in contact with pale, washed out faces, etched with longing for days in warm sunshine by the seaside.

London to Pollensa, Mallorca,

Balearic Islands, Spain

Fear is a useful emotion.

It stops us doing stupid things.

Rhonda Pritchard

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W AYNE AND JULIA HAVE A weekend house in the village of Pollensa on the Mediterranean island of Mallorca. While they spend the working week in Palma, Bruce and I will have the use of their Pollensa house and they will join us during the weekends. Spending ten days in Pollensa will prove to be ideal preparation for the Camino. Bruce and I adjust to local time and have a gentle introduction to Spain and Spanish culture. We walk each day around the village environs and adapt to living at a walking pace.

On our arrival at Palma de Mallorca, Wayne and Julia are there to meet us. Together we drive forty minutes northwest to Pollensa through almond and olive groves as well as vineyards, all thriving in the dry, rocky soil that makes up the landscape. Old rusting windmills draw precious bore water. Familiar with the verdant lushness of New Zealand, I am amazed at the productivity of such soil and land despite its apparent aridity. I do not recognize the almond trees clothed in their spring green until Wayne identifies them for me and then regales us with an account of their white flowering beauty a few weeks earlier. The olive trees with their signature green and silver leaves are more easily recognizable.

The spectacular Sierra de Tramuntana mountain range flanks our left and blocks our view of the Mediterranean Sea as we continue across the flat land. (The mountain range was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 2011.) As we near Pollensa, Wayne points out a rocky hill – the Puig de Maria – and with some relish (he is my younger brother you may recall) pronounces that climbing this three hundred metre limestone rock will be our training walk in the morning. In my jet-lagged state, I cannot begin to imagine making it to the top of this hill. It looks far too high and far too steep. I do not yet know that I will come to enjoy and value the climb to the top of the Puig.

To my delight, Wayne and Julia’s cottage is in the old village just a few streets away from the Plaza Mayor, the main square. From this plaza, all roads in the old village begin and then fan out to the newer parts of Pollensa. The ancient stone homes, some with shops located on the ground floor with living quarters above, are built in rows, two storeys high, giving the feeling of being walled in. The houses are all constructed from the local sandstone and radiate light and warmth in the sunshine. The narrow roads, first paved as recently as the 1970s, also glow. (Prior to paving, women sprinkled water on the roads to reduce the dust nuisance.) The roads, initially built for human or donkey feet, are now either one way for motor vehicles, or remain foot traffic only.

Many of the houses have either bright green or blue window boxes brought alive by brilliant red geraniums contrasting perfectly with the sandstone. Other houses have geraniums in planter boxes on the front steps. The external window shutters, so very necessary for shutting out the hot sun, are painted to match the planter boxes; all are very attractive.

Few occupants of these eye-catching homes have garages in which to house their small cars. Some families have converted the downstairs space, which would once have provided shop space or stabling for animals, into garages. The garage-less residents, must drive up and around the one-way streets trying to find a park as close to their front door as possible. Often, a narrow, walled in road is blocked when a car stops for shopping to be unloaded. Mission accomplished, the car is then driven off to wherever it can be bedded down for the night. Wayne stops in the middle of the road and unloads us three passengers, in the absence of shopping bags, then drives off in the hope of finding a space in which to park.

Before sunrise on our first morning in Pollensa, Wayne, Bruce and I are up and off to scale the limestone hill we had seen from the car the day before. I had had the opportunity to study the rock a little more from the lower terrace of Wayne and Julia’s house. The steepness was not diminished from this viewing position.

To walk the two kilometres from the house to the base of the Puig involves passing through the streets of the old village. During this first early morning saunter, I begin to experience a quiet panic with the dawning realisation that Bruce and I will need to find our own way through the village on future excursions. To compare the old part of Pollensa to a rabbit warren is unfair; it is more a stone maze. The narrow streets with their two storied houses, all built with the same sandstone, begin to merge in my memory and I doubt I will find my way without Wayne. I might possibly have Bruce as a companion on later jaunts, but he relies on me to find our way. My sense of direction is better than his.

After some twenty minutes, we arrive at the foot of the hill where the crowning monastery, Santuari de la Mare de Dēu del Puig built in the thirteenth century, awaits our ascent. The road up the hill, which is extremely narrow and potholed, only goes so far and as there is little parking at road end, most people leave their cars at a carpark across the road from the start of the ascent. There is a gap in the perimeter fence which gives an expedient short cut out of the car park. We don’t have a car, but do avail ourselves of the shortcut.

The ascension is not difficult, but it is not a stroll either. As we wind our way up the limestone rock, grassy paddocks, olive groves and other fruiting orchards give way to holm oaks and pines. The road gradually becomes steeper and on this, our first climb, we are breathlessly obliged to stop and admire the views. Fitness, or lack thereof aside, the views are remarkable. We look back and down to Pollensa gradually emerging from the night shadows as the sun lifts higher. To the east, the rising sun is turning the sea at Port de Alcudia into a sparkling jewel.

As we climb yet higher, the asphalt road ends and a narrow cobbled, two-person width path begins. At first the cobbles are level and orderly despite nearly seven hundred years of foot and donkey traffic. The oaks and pines become sparse and almost give up the attempt to provide shade for the wild goats which show off their sure-footed, skittish skills. Higher still the path narrows. The worn cobbles are now sometimes upended and the path becomes potentially treacherous. Suitable only for goats, I mutter. We totter from one rough stone to the next. We are now in terrain that is rocky, dry, and hardened by years of rain, wind and sun. Occasionally, I need to place my hands against the large boulders beside the path to steady myself. How many hands have touched these same rocks over the centuries?

Finally, the reward at the end of the climb. The Sanctuary is necessarily a smallish complex; there isn’t a lot of space on the summit. The massive creamy to brown stones of the building are warmly bathed in the early morning sunlight as we sit and take in the near and far off surrounding beauty. We also steady our breathing.

The dim chapel has its original flagged blue floor, so worn over the centuries that to walk upon it feels like walking upon waves. As well as the chapel, there is a large kitchen, dining room, sleeping quarters and three wells. How did anyone manage to dig three wells on top of this limestone rock, back in the thirteenth century, without the aid of earthmoving machines and mechanized drills? There is a modern addition to this ancient complex – a café. It is closed.

As I walk through the kitchen, the cavernous dining hall and the sleeping cells, I notice there are no fireplaces except for those in the kitchen. The fireplaces may have been removed, but I think not. I am feeling cold on this early morning in spring. In winter, the nuns must have been very cold indeed on this exposed hill. The hardy nuns refused to leave their Sanctuary even when ordered down by the Bishop of Mallorca for safety reasons.

On the west side of the monastery, looking out to Port Pollensa, stands the remains of the signal tower where fires were lit to warn of approaching danger. Other towers are located along the length of the Tramuntanas, and in times long ago, when a fire was spotted at one tower, the signal was repeated from tower to tower: communication was by fire in the absence of the mobile phone.

From the summit, the loveliness of the environs of Pollensa is intensified with the backdrop of the limestone Tramuntanas rearing up out of the valley floor. Holm oaks, pines and olive trees have, over the centuries, thrust their way up through the limestone on the mountainsides. The lower mountain slopes are terraced and planted with olives and grapes. The greens and greys of the olive leaves create a stark contrast against the paler grey of the limestone rock. Valley floors are planted with grapes and olives, interspersed with fenced pastures where cows and sheep graze, giving a sense of domesticity in the face of wild limestone splendour.

The mountains have protected the village for millennia from both natural and human devastation. Human devastation came in the form of Moorish pirate raids, hence the need of stone signal towers. Due to the presence of pirates, the village of Pollensa was established six kilometres from the sea. The pirates, although long gone, are not forgotten. Once a year the villagers celebrate the festival of La Patrona where they dress up as Moor and Christian to re-enact the battle that raged on a day in 1550. The Christians of Pollensa called to both God and the Mother of Angels and were aided in their defeat of the Moors. During La Patrona, the Moorish pirates throng the roads of the old village walking to their defeat at the hands of the Christians. On the way, the pirates rub the wax off their faces onto the cheeks of village women to mark them as, ‘taken by the Moors.’ Julia has been known to receive kisses as the rowdy Moors, always hopeful of victory, pass down the narrow streets.

Gradually, Bruce and I begin to fall in love with Pollensa and by extension, with Spain. It is a sound decision not to hire a car to view as much of the island as we can. We slow down and become used to living at a walking pace. The quarter hourly ringing of the large 13th century church bells of the Iglesia de Nostra Senyora dels Angels (Our Lady of the Angels) marks the passing of our days. (Thankfully, these same bells ring only on the hour between midnight and 6 a.m. Wayne and Julia’s house is very close to this church.) We grow to be comfortable living in a different culture and environment.

We enjoy wandering the narrow streets listening to and observing the villagers. Bruce and I watch the old men meet and greet in the cafés each morning where they relish their gossip, coffee and newspapers. Within days, we grow to recognize some of the elderly women who with a slow, but purposeful walk, pass us on their way to do their shopping. They are dressed predominantly in black, and their wheeled shopping trundlers follow like faithful border collies.

In the evenings, before sunset, families appear on the streets and gather to discuss probably not the weather as each day is sunny, but the day’s happenings, the state of the world, the failings of the government and the latest updates on family and friends. Parents, as they supervise young children doing what energetic children do best, swap parenting tips and commiserate with one another over the cost of living. I do not actually know what the conversations are about – these are my best guesses. Watching this evening gathering of families, and the separate groups of shy adolescent boys and girls who eye each other from different corners of the various plazas, is a phenomenon we are to enjoy and notice in each village and city along the Camino. Village and townspeople informally creating stronger bonds of community together. Always, the older folk are immaculately dressed. Coming from New Zealand where dress is often casual, we know we will never blend in, even with our mouths shut. Our clothes give us away. Besides, Bruce standing at 1.88 metres unshod, is head and shoulders taller than most local males.

As days go by, I begin to pick up a little Spanish; just what is needed to begin each day. "Dos Café con Léche por favor." (Two white coffees please.) One of my continued annoyances with myself is my monolingual status. Despite five years of French tuition at school I cannot claim to be able to speak French. Bill Bryson, in Neither Here nor There, suggested that the French phrases in school texts do not include the kind of phrases one needs when travelling abroad. While I am in accord with such a sentiment, I am fully aware that I am the only one who can change my monolingual status. My awareness does not transmute into action.

We are in Pollensa for two Saturdays which gives us the opportunity to attend the local food market (complete with shopping trolley on wheels) held in the Plaza Mayor. As we have arrived in Pollensa in the middle of March, before peak tourist season, there are few foreigners around. Even so, Julia makes sure we get to the market on both Saturday mornings by 8 a.m. before the tourists arrive at 9 a.m. I am reminded of fun times shopping with my mother at the produce market in Suva, Fiji, where I spent my childhood and adolescence. Here too, in Pollensa, is stall upon stall of fresh produce carefully and tastefully arranged and displayed. The colours call to me. There are deep red, orange and green peppers. Large bunches of vibrant green spinach sit alongside large, brilliant red strawberries. There is row upon row of fresh cheeses, olives, nuts (almonds everywhere of course) and dried fruit. So much food, but only so many meals needing to be prepared before we leave for the Camino. Ten days