Valleys, hills, and mountains, sand, mud and stone, my sandals have seen it all. Laying in the bed of my albergue, one day out of Santiago, I’ve trekked over 600 kilometers in my trusty foam sandals.
The sandal journey began in Bilbao. Walking off a bus from Burgos where I left the Frances route to join with the Norte, I hadn’t walked in 3 days, resting an achilles injury. My $130 REI boots that had carried me through France, over the Pyrenees, and into Spain had torn into my tendon, leaving it inflamed and exceptionally sore.
After three days rest, I was ready to get back at it. I made it give kilometers. Pain shot up my achilles, tugging at every step.
“I don’t think I can make it guys,” I said to my companions for the day, Collin and Dominguez.
“Try out my new kicks, man,” Colin said jokingly, tossing his brand new 8 Euro purple plastic Reebok sandals at my feet.
“Oh yeah man! I’ll be the most stylin peregrino on the Camino!” I laughed, taking a few sauntering steps along an imaginary runway. But as I strutted my stuff and my heel lifted from the back of the strapless slides, I felt little pain. My screaming achilles was now only voicing a gentle moan. “Woah, these might actually work,” I remarked in amazement.
Dumbfounded by the odd occurrence of 8 Euro purple slides being the panacea for foot pain, I walked on. My whole Norte Camino would be done in strapless sandals.
