Behind the Albergue Door: Inspiration Agony Adventure on the Camino de Santiago

and vigorously swearing that if they had it to do all over again, they wouldn’t. Which made us feel good, for some reason.
    In La Viana, lying on the grass on the terrace outside Albergue Andrés Muñoz
    It had been a long hard day, much like all the other long hard days, but it felt different since it was also one of those times when the whole thing just seemed so overwhelming and pointless. I think there were times when we all struggled emotionally and questioned ourselves:
    “What the hell are we doing?”
    “Can we really still have that far to go?”
    “Another new blister? Are…you…fucking…kidding me?”
    But usually a shower, a nap, a beer, a pair of freshly scrubbed underpants later and the world would feel manageable once again. But some days, days like these, well, even those things seemed like too much too handle. Which is how I found myself lying prone and limp in the grass like a teenager taking a minute to recover his wits and leg muscles after finally getting his turn with the local cop’s daughter. Listening to my iPod, staring up at the impossibly blue sky feeling the energy and motivation slowly seep back into my body like a soothing balm, or a particularly invigorating case of ringworm.
    Mass at the Cathedral in Burgos
    We attended this with our ecclesiastical friend, Father Frank from Chicago, which just added another tinge of the unfamiliar to an already foreign proceeding. Neither Laynni nor I are Roman Catholic, and my religious history is mostly limited to sweating through my suit at summer weddings while sitting on uncomfortable wooden pews watching ministers try their hand at wit by putting their own awkward spin on traditional vows. Well, that, and exorcism movies, of course. Either way, Catholic mass at one of the largest, most famous and most outrageously gaudy cathedrals in all of Spain was bound to be a memorable experience with or without a past that included pretending to cannibalize Christ on a weekly basis or fearing divine retribution over my love of dirty dancing.
    Climbing the hill outside Castrojeriz as the sun rose
    While this may sound like an energetic undertaking planned well ahead with carefully set alarms and fully charged camera batteries, you have to remember this was October, and before Daylight Savings Time kicked in, so the sun didn’t actually come up until after 8:30. We were hardly blazing any trails. Nonetheless, a fortunate confluence of hazy fog shrouding the rising sun behind us, its growing light painting a myriad of colours on the seemingly sheer valley wall blocking our path, and rapidly shifting rainbows highlighted against the ominous backdrop of dark clouds looming heavily in wait at the top of the ridge all combined to create an electric atmosphere of wonder and impending doom. Even though we knew those rainbows and black skies promised nothing good we still couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the moment and feel thrilled to have experienced it. As if on cue, the skies eased open just as we crested the hill, politely giving us time to gear up in a relatively light drizzle before settling in with more serious intent soon after in what would turn out to the be the start of several difficult days of rain, cold, wind and no longer finding it possible to dry my socks and underwear on the outside of my backpack.
    Changing colours of grapevines near Villafranca del Bierzo
    This one owes as much to timing as anything, but there is no question that the cacophony of colours created by the changing of the seasons was a major benefit to hiking the Camino in the fall. The grape harvest was at varying stages throughout and could change from field to field, let alone town to town. But you could tell they were all close to ripe, and most were already in the throes of autumn colouring. A particularly vivid memory for me was the day we walked from Ponferrada to Villafranca del Bierzo, first through a number of practically inanimate little villages, then into some of the most peaceful wine country of the entire trek, literally strolling along the gentle inclines and declines, wholeheartedly relishing the calm, cloudless day while listening to a bunch of old Tragically Hip songs I hadn’t heard in years. I occasionally even found myself stopping to take one of those long, overly dramatic breaths that demonstrate to anyone watching that I was either passionately appreciating my current surroundings and overall position in life at that specific moment, or