Copenhagen | Caminoist

: Spanish groom sits in Burgos train station.

: Beautiful stained glass at Bilbao train station

: Famous Bilbao museum from the freeway bridge on way back from the airport

May 30: I left Santo Domingo at dawn in a white taxi and watched out the window as future camino miles whizzed past. I saw several pilgrims braving the wind and light rain of this day, and once again I was amazed at the colors of the springtime grain fields.

I arrived at Burgos in plenty of time for my train and waited at a cafe as one of the oddest sights of the camino unfolded before my eyes. A group of young Spaniards escorted one of their friends into the train station. He was blindfolded and wearing a bright wig and ballet tutu. He had some kind of sock around his male appendage and it became clear he was getting married this weekend and his friends were giving him a pre-nuptial hazing. He took it “like a man” and the whole episode evinced chuckles from the assembled train goers.

I boarded the train to Burgos, looking ahead to a five-hour journey and enjoyed every moment of this trip to Bilbao. Through fields and forests and across rivers — this was an introduction to the beauty of Northern Spain and I was glad for the opportunity to see this beautiful region. I arrived at the train station in Bilbao and spotted the gorgeous stained glass window above the train gates. Then I caught a taxi for Bilbao’s airport and my flight to Copenhagen.

My wife, Gail, an anesthesiologist and professor of bio-medical ethics, was to speak to the European Society of Anesthesiologists that weekend. It was a big event and her first European speech. When I arrived in Denmark I soon realized there were two Sheraton Hotels and I wasn’t certain at which one Gail was staying. I guessed which one and when I arrived at the lobby I asked the desk to call her room. Gail answered the phone and asked the odd question, “Where are you?” I told her, “I’m down in the lobby,” and she was ecstatic. Her friend, Pam, had joined her for her Copenhagen visit and for a couple of weeks of sightseeing between there and Rome, so the three of us spent the next days enjoying this amazing city and listening as Gail shared his outstanding speech with the European Society.

Since Gail is a doctor I asked if she’d be willing to take a look at the blisters on my feet. “No!” she said, “They’d be too gross!” Even without the support of My Own Private Physician the days away from the camino brought healing to my feet and by the time of my return to Spain I felt much better. My only regret was that I’d left my favorite baseball cap back at the hotel in Santo Domingo and I expected I’d never see it again.

June 2: After a great weekend in Copenhagen I said goodbye to Gail and Pam and headed back via plane to Bilbao. My friend Stefan had suggested that I needed a cell phone so he could send me SMS texts, so I obliged and purchased a cheap cell phone and some minutes as I waited at the Bilbao train station. I boarded the train back to Burgos and caught a taxi to Santo Domingo. As I checked in at the Parador I asked about my hat and, sure enough, they’d kept it safe for me. From then on I’d have a fondness for this hotel and the great Parador chain.

: Santiago, slaying Moors

: El tormento in Logrono — a gullywasher we say back home.

: Feliza is indeed happy. Thank you for your warm greeting and cool water.

: Looking down into Logrono

: The towers of Logrono’s cathedral come into view

: The gutters fill with rain and hail. View from the safety of the hotel lobby.

As I left Viana I took stock of my condition and realized I was hurting badly because of blisters. After several days of rain and mud my hiking shoes were still wet and my feet showed the resulting damage. I’d learned to push through the pain each day, knowing that the pain would go away after the first half hour or so. But the pain returned after breakfast or lunch or a break for another half hour at a time whenever I started anew.

So rather than plan a long walk I decided instead to walk only the 8 km between Viana and Logroño. This short day would give me a rest, and a hotel stay would give me a comfy bed, a good shower, and hopefully an Internet kiosk where I could make my plans for surprising Gail in Copehagen.

I left Viana and trudged my way toward Logroño. As I came down the last hill into town I followed the directions of the Brierley guidebook and stopped at the delightful home of Feliza. This wonderful woman has hosted pilgrims for many years, offering toast and jam and cafe to all who come by, giving a kind word and a sello (credential stamp) from the cool confines of her living room. In spite of blisters I felt cheerful as I left her house and I walked through old Logroño with its charming buildings and found a comfy, modern hotel in the newer section of town.

After my shower I looked out the window to see that a massive storm of rain and hail was happening outside. I was stunned to see the gutters filling with hailstones, thick as snow, and I was thankful not to be walking outside in this weather.

I laid out my grimy pilgrim possessions on the floor of my spotless hotel room. After one week my hiking shoes were a mess, my socks were stained with red mud, everything was damp. I looked at my feet and they were a mess. Some of my blisters now had blisters on them. Even so, I was proud that I’d now covered 136 of the 800 km of this walk, and I knew I would make it all the way.

After the storm I headed out of the hotel to find a barber shop and get my hair cut. The hailstones had piled up to one foot depth in the lower portions of the main plaza of the old city. Nearby I found a hair salon and, while he cut m hair, I had a great conversation with a Spaniard who’d lived in America.

Before dinner in the hotel dining room I made reservations on the train from Burgos to Bilbao and flight reservations from Bilbao to Copenhagen and back. My plan now was to walk as far as I could over the next couple of days then catch a bus or taxi to Burgos, from which I’d connect to Copenhagen to surprise Gail. I went to bed, warm and comfortable with visions of seeing Gail in Copenhagen and feeling a little guilty about all those other pilgrims who’d had to weather the storms of the day and try their best to dry out in their cramped and crowded albergues.