Guillena

My pilgrimage has begun! It feels wonderful to be on the road again, walking sticks in hand, everything I need on my back, walking through the varying Spanish countryside.

Day 1 ... I left Sevilla before the parade began. Surprisingly the way was well-marked out of the city ... no need for a map ... just following the yellow arrows.

In Sevilla, the peregrina (Spanish for pilgrim) seems not to be a common sight. Everyone stares at a woman with a big backpack, two walking sticks, and a wide-brimmed Tilley hat, but 10 km outside of Sevilla, it felt more like the Camino Frances, with locals pointing the way and giving directions.

I enjoyed a leisurely walk, stopping for tapas half-way along ... not sure what they were, as the food in Andalucia is not listed in my dictionary, nor was I able to identify it by eating it ... it was good, and it was fried. No longer must I wait til the evening meal for fried food, which seems to be a mainstay here.

The second part of my journey necessitated removing my boots and wading through a stream. It is there that I got blisters on the soles of my feet ... large painful blisters. I´m not sure how this is possible for someone who walks as much as I do, but apparently it is.

I continued on my way to Guillena, the first town on my itinerary, and was greeted by a man who pointed the way to the police station where I could pick up the key to the pilgrims' albergue. My guidebook indicated that these accommodations were spartan, so I inquired at a private hostal, which had no vacancy ... it was already occupied by other pilgrims.

So I made my way back to the police station, where I was told that there was only one key, and he had already given it to two other pilgrims. So I returned to the albergue, where a group of boys, about age 10 were playing soccer at the sports complex just outside. They were very helpful, knocking at the doors, shouting, throwing things at the door, to try to get the residents to open it for me, but alas, the pilgrims were not inside. I knew they had been there, for I saw laundry hanging out the window, so I removed my backpack and boots and settled in to wait for the other pilgrims to return.

The boys seemed to feel bad that they were unable to help me, so periodically they talked together to formulate a question in English which they could ask me. Our conversation was fairly bizarre, limited by our common words. ¨What is your name? Do you play futbol? Do you like beef?¨ I was hoping the latter question would procure a meal, as I was becoming rather hungry by now.

Two hours later, it began to get cold and I was glad I had brought my extra fleece. The cold turned out to be a blessing, for it brought the other peregrinos back to the albergue to pick up their socks. They opened the door for me to the change room for the sports complex - our home for the night. A blue ceramic tile floor with two hard plastic mattresses, a toilet with a piece of tin to slide in front of the door for privacy, and a few showers. ¨Would you like to sleep in the shower or the toilet?¨ they asked.

They stepped outside so I could shower and then we all went for dinner together. We joined a mother and her 9-year-old daughter who were also walking the Camino, and who had arrived early enough to get the hostal with its bathtubs, thick mattresses, and fluffy towels. We enjoyed a multilingual meal ... English, Spanish, German, Basque ... and then returned to our spartan albergue and joined in a rousing chorus of La Cucaracha, inspired by the life within our quarters, before settling in for the night.