Since my last update, the journey has changed. Before it was filled with the silent abandon of my mind, feeling lost in thought (often followed by lost in body), having prayed for so many and realizing my prayers are so few. I was determined and committed to walking without break until the next hotel was found, appreciating views along the way, stopping for a photo, and chatting with those along the path, but always on the move. The days weren't long, but the wide open expanse of the nights felt like they needed to be filled, with mass, silent dinners and meandering through the sights of each town as a solo tourist. Travelling alone was great, but more for me than others (as I suspect my mom would agree - she may have said more prayers than me while I was alone). Often on the back paths, which were lined with stone walls and trees cascading over top, little ladies would wander by and say 'solo??', asking if I was travelling alone, with a mix of surprise, scorn, and (perhaps this is projection), a hint of wonder or admiration.
Since Amber has arrived, it too has been great. There is less meandering around in the evenings, I eat more regularly instead of when the sporadic pangs of hunger hit as before, and I sleep more. Also the walks go much faster, filled with conversations and wonderings, reminiscing about our past trips to New Zealand, Peru, Hawaii, Alaska, Bali, Switzerland, and even Troyes (just in the last 3 years). We find the edges and cross-sections on the ideas where we differ and share perspectives on the topics where we agree. We discuss our hopes and possibilites for the future and talk through options for decisions currently waiting to be made. The walks go by too quickly in my opinion, though she might disagree.
When we arrive at a hotel, we retrieve our bags and head to our room. On day 5 we took the stairs... though days 6, 7 and 8 have required hobbling to the elevator, regardless of which floor we are on. (Whenever alone in these evenings, I take the stairs, but definitely out of pride and a desire to save a bit of electricity, even if it takes minutes instead of seconds to get up to the 5th or 7th floors... but don't tell Amber). Then we collapse onto the beds, elevate our legs, and I assess my blisters. It may have been a bad idea to use my hiking boots as snow boots all winter, as the lining is nearly gone and the foam pretty destroyed by the salt. Also, there's now a rip down the side of my well-used boot, the water-proofing super-power gone. Perhaps using them as running shoes in the spring was a bad idea as well... The blisters are fine in the morning and through the day, but if we stop for a meal at lunch as we often do, I suddenly walk crooked the last few kilometers. (Though I think Amber prefers this pace as her muscles and joints are getting worn in, just as mine were last week).
Lunches are rare and you feel as a miracle occurred if you happen to be walking through a town big enough for a restaurant exactly between the hours of 1:30 and 3:30, as this means you get the privilege of lunch. If not, I tend to eat the fruit I carry, while others opt for the fresh meat and cheese sandwiches in the small cafe's. We realized if either of us drank coffee or smoked, we would take more breaks to enjoy the cafe's, but that is an unlikely habit to pick up on the camino, so we walk on by. Suppers start at 8:00, so if you miss lunch, it's a long day! Each meal takes two hours (lunch and dinner), so much of the day is spent sitting at a little cafe table, watching people go by, the trees sway in the breeze, birds fighting for bread, and waiters running at a break-neck pace. We have eaten many tapas: octopus, peppers, empanadas (stuffed cornbread), salads, more sardines, other fish, and a few french fries. Last night we had a vegetable paella that was wonderful and huge - cooked and served in a giant iron skillet. Each meal is accompanied by a light summer-y red table wine, sangria, or vinho con gas (a wine spritzer with ice). All of these are great! One night we enjoyed sushi and for old times - a sake bomb.
The hotels have been nice, two and three stars that would in some ways be more like 4 stars at home (the location, interior design, and bathrooms), but in other ways they are more similar to a Motel 6, such as the sheets, bed, and warm air. One hotel was above a bar that put a patio in that day, and the villagers of the small town celebrated until 3:30 (or so Amber tells me - I was long out). We have gotten in most days for an early evening nap, so all is well. One hotel overlooked the river, hills, and mountains, with windows from ceiling to floor, so we watched the sun set (and did a few yoga poses to mark the occasion). That same hotel was in a town with a hot spring, so we got to soak in a nice warm, light sulpher-smelling bath during the evening.
The last few nights, we stayed in Arcade, Pontrevedra, Caldas de Reis, and Padron, and weaved through many small towns in between. The houses have been large, flat, stucco, and with terra cotta rooves. The flowers are blooming, corns stalks are tall and ready to be harvested, some with full grown pumpkins peeking out, and grapes cover the vines. The landscape has changed from humid, breezy, lush, and coastal to dry, hot, stale, but still green - though the plants have changed to ferns and we pass fewer pine tree forests. The heat is in the 80's, but feels so hot that the geckos and occasional cactus are not out of place. I find my thoughts wander to old westerns, so the temperature must be affecting my subconscious as well.
The nights are mostly quiet, with the excepection of Pontrevedra and the fantastic fiesta we stumbled upon. The feast of pilgrims was amazing! There were magicians, folk dancers, a full carnival with rides and carts where people make you fresh mojito. Woah. There was bulls and toreadors (40+ euros! - $60 CAD to go), and a peaceful anti rally. Pontrevedra was full of stone building and a historic center where the street seemed to climb up the buildings (everything was stone). We got to bed late that night, proud to have stayed up for the fireworks and taken in the festivities. The next morning we were definitely moving slow...
What I have learned so far from the camino:
-Sometimes you have to trust that the next arrow is coming. Even when you don't see one. Like in life, sometimes you just have to have faith you are on the right path and just keep swimming, as Dory would say.
-However when that icky feeling that something is wrong gets too strong (whether that is your intuition or the holy spirit), you should turn back to check. I have found some intersections required me trying a few different streets and following each path for a ways before ultimately finding the right one. So many people think they need to find their ideal profession or purpose in life, but perhaps the purpose is the journey. It's going down the wrong road for a ways (taking a different university course, changing majors or jobs) before trying something else.
-Sometimes it is hard and not fun. But by the end of the day when I am laying in bed, I forget how hot it was or the lack of breeze and remember that cute dog or the friendly fellow I got to say hello to. The good always outweighs the bad, especially if you are looking for it
-The path has been travelled by many, so I should trust the way of those who have gone before me, even recognizing that I stand on the shoulders of giants. The road I have been walking on for the last two days was originally paved by the Romans - the exact path! Roman road 19!! Millions of people have walked along, whether as pilgrims or visitors, and I need to recognize the wisdom and to trust that this is the way. Even when it seems the water is on the wrong side or I shouldn't go under this overpass, I need to trust the way is correct.
-The scavenger hunt of directions that was given to me to explain when not to follow the arrows is confusing and often too vague to be helpful, but infused with local history and lore. The lesson in this is to know when to put it away and enjoy the view. Turn off the noise and stop worrying about what is coming from those who went before, and just enjoy the journey.
-Don't forget to get a stamp. When you are anywhere interesting. Ask for a stamp for your passport at least twice a day. I have had to remember to do this each day (and not lose the passport along the way). There are few things in life that I do regularly, so this is good training and practice to help me remember, perhaps for praying for others, or preparation for the more structured life I am about to enter. Don't forget the stamp!! Once I get to Santiago I will happily hand over the burden of the passport and in return receive a certificate of completion, or participation, or something of the like. We will see.
-St Roque (Roch) and Santiago (St James) are two different guys. Roque is the patron saint of leprosy and looks like a pilgrim, but was a pilgrim to Rome and helped cure lepers along the way before contracting it himself when a dog came and fed him bread each day to keep him alive, before he then walked to France and died as a suspected spy in prison. St James was James the Great, son of Zebedee, business partner of Peter, first martyr (killed by Herod in 44 AD), went to the Iberian peninsula (Spain) to christianize, so his body returned back to here and laid in Compostella (field of stars) after passing through the town of Padron (where the rock that the boat containing his body was tied to has been immortalized in a church). St James is often shown on a horse as Spaniards prayed to him for help when battling the muslim invaders. 2 different guys.
Over the last few days (but not before), a few people inquired why I am doing the camino. I tell them I don't know. Hopefully by tomorrow, when I put my hand where so many others did in Santiago de Compostella beneath the statue of St James, and make my request, I will know, though I suspect it will be one of gratitude. We shall see.
