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You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case; Day 31 on the Camino, Muxia to Santiago (by bus)

July 28, 2015

(I wrote most of this post while I was still in Santiago, but I’m finally getting around to posting it just now, a full week later. I’m back in the States and this is sort of the last of the ‘live’ Camino posts, but there will be more to come! Including the saga of getting my walking stick home…)

It’s 6:00pm and I’m sitting at a cafe tucked around the corner from the cathedral in Santiago- at an outdoor table under a large white umbrella. I’m steps away from the main square of the cathedral but this tiny corner of the city is very tucked away, down a set of stairs that not many people notice. The day is chilly and the coffee is good and strong. I feel rested and relaxed. Satisfied.

I had another early start this morning, every morning has been an early start on the Camino. Even though I wasn’t walking I still had a 7:30am bus to catch back to Santiago, so I dragged myself out of bed and wondered, again, why in the world I had walked so much yesterday, why in the world I had stayed up so late drinking wine with Honza. But then I remembered something we’d talked about the night before, the expression, “You can sleep when you’re dead.” He told me about one that his girlfriend says, and I’m not sure if it’s a Czech thing or just his girlfriend’s thing, but in any case, it’s this: “You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case.” Same concept, but funnier and stranger. I might start using it.

So yes, I can sleep when I’m in the pencil case. And since I’m not there yet, I have no regrets about pushing myself really hard in this last week: the long, long days of walking, the late nights talking with friends, the early mornings when I sacrificed sleep in order to sit outside and drink coffee with Nicolas or Christine.

Besides, I found my rest today, almost against my will. On the bus ride back to Santiago I closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them to discover I was back in the city; this afternoon I took a nap (the first nap of my Camino! And on my first day of not walking in a month!).

This is my first rest day and my last day in Spain, tomorrow I fly to Paris. My experience of Santiago is so different than it was last year, but not in a bad way. I still feel like I belong here, I’m a pilgrim and I walked here and even though this year’s walk didn’t feel as much like a pilgrimage, Santiago was still, always, the destination.

But like the rest of this year’s Camino, this final day in Santiago is calm and relaxed. But also filled with beautiful moments. I’d arranged to meet Moritz in the morning; I hadn’t seen him in about four days, since Castroverde. He took a slightly different route to get to Santiago and only arrived early this morning, planning to stop for an hour or two and then pass through and continue on towards Finisterre. When I realized that I could make it back from Muxia in time to see him, and that he would wait for me, I was so happy. It meant that I’d been able to say goodbye to the four people I’d grown closest with on this Camino: Christine, Guillemette, Nicolas and Moritz. And that was a special thing, considering we’d all parted and were arriving/leaving Santiago at different times.

So Moritz and I had coffee and filled each other in on what had happened since we’d last seen each other. We lingered, continuing to talk, already reminiscing on the days we had spent together. We said goodbye in exactly the same spot that Christine and I had parted, giving each other a strong hug and promising to keep in touch. I could feel a small lump in my throat as I watched him walk away, and I thought, once again, about how lucky and grateful I was for the people I met this year.

I stopped by the pension I’d stayed in on Thursday night to see if my room was ready, and it was. This time it all felt easy: I knew exactly where to go, I was given the same room, and when I walked inside I felt like I was back in my little home. After dropping off my pack and my stick I hurried over to the cathedral for the 12:00 mass, and stood quietly in the back of a very packed church. After about 10 minutes two men passed by and I realized I knew them- it was Jose and another Spanish man, the guys who had been at my dinner table in Bodenaya. It was a classic Santiago greeting: the looks of surprise and happiness on our faces, the hugs, the congratulations (all in hushed tones, since there was a service going on). I hadn’t seen them since the Hospitales route, the day that I tacked on an extra stage. Jose told me that they were the first to arrive in Santiago, the rest of the people we’d been with in Bodenaya were a day or two behind.

I shook my head and joked, “No, I’m the first of the group to arrive!” He wagged his finger at me. “You’re in your own group.”

I had to smile at that, because maybe I AM in my own group, or maybe, actually, I’m in a lot of groups. I come and I go but always, it seemed as though I found people to be with.

Just as the mass ended and I was saying goodbye to Jose, I heard someone exclaim, “Nadine!!” I turned and it was Jill, an American girl from Chicago who I’d met at least two weeks ago in Pendueles (when I was still on the Norte). She threw her arms around me and gave me the longest, strongest hug I’ve maybe ever had in my life. I’d probably only ever talked to her for an hour but, again, this is the Camino: when you see people again, especially when you think it’s impossible, it’s a special thing.

We’re going to meet for dinner tonight, maybe with a few others as well. I’m hoping I can run into other people I know- I’m still holding out hope that others from the Norte are here, as well- but even if I don’t find anyone else, it will be okay. In many ways I’ve been given more than enough on this Camino- more friends, more connections, more time alone, more time to feel pain, more time to feel alive- than I ever expected. It’s been a good, good month.

(later)…

I never did run into anyone else from the Norte; I’d arrived in Santiago too soon, they had more time to walk, or maybe they were somewhere in the city, and I just couldn’t find them. I did, however, run into one more person, one last Camino encounter that felt strange and special.

I was walking back to my pension after dinner, it was nearly 11:00, the night was dark but the city was still alive, with pilgrims streaming through the streets, eating and drinking and celebrating. Just before coming to the street that I would turn onto for my pension I saw someone familiar walking towards me: it was Andrea, the Italian man who I had helped in Arzua (he had been looking a little lost and I told him to come with me to find an albergue). We greeted each other and he was so pleased to see me. “Come have a beer with me,” he asked.

At first I declined. I was tired and I didn’t know Andrea at all. I’d spent a total of 15 minutes in his company, that day in Arzua, and in that moment, all I wanted was to return to my room and climb into bed and fall into a deep sleep. I felt like my pilgrimage, my Camino, was over.

But Andrea pleaded. “It wil be fast,” he said. “I wanted to buy you a beer in Arzua, after you helped me find a place to sleep, but I went to the pharmacy and then you were gone. But now here you are, and I am so glad.”

I heard his words and then I heard Honza’s words, from the night before: “You can sleep when you’re in the pencil case.”

So I agreed and Andrea and I found a place nearby- a small bar on the corner where we took a table outside and ordered beer and talked for an hour.

It’s hard to describe the conversation we had, but all I can say is that it was such a Camino conversation, and in some ways, the perfect way to end this trip. Andrea told me how much I had helped him, that day in Arzua. To me, I hadn’t thought much of it- he had looked tired and I also needed to find a place to sleep, so it made sense to have him come along with me. But Andrea had really been struggling: he had tendenitis and was in a lot of pain. He was tired and frustrated and feeling like his Camino might have to end, just 40 kilometers before Santiago.

But then I appeared, and he said that when he saw me, I had a smile on my face. That he could feel my positive energy, and that being able to follow me to an albergue helped his spirits and his outlook so much.

We talked about this, and about what the Camino can give you, about how it is really just one small part of a journey through life. How the real Camino begins when you go home. It’s something I’ve thought about before, but it’s been so much more on my mind during this trip. Last year, when I came home from the Camino Frances, I was upset that I wasn’t still on a Camino. I wanted to walk all day, I wanted to be outside all day, I wanted to be meeting people from all over the world, I wanted to feel free, all the time.

It’s a big reason that I came back to do another Camino: I wanted those feelings again. I wanted to keep walking. But this year, at least right now, my feelings are different. I’d still love to walk all day and meet people and feel that freedom, but I don’t think I need it in the same way. So many of the friends I made on this year’s Camino have asked me: What will your next Camino be? When will it be? And I don’t really have answers, other than it will probably be somewhere in France, and it probably won’t be next summer.

Because I’m ready for other things, now. I think I will always want to be on a Camino, and I have no doubt that I will do another Camino (maybe many Caminos) in my life. But I’m also ready to really live my days, wherever I am. To try to be present with each day and not always be dreaming about my future, about what I want to do when I have time off. I want to say to myself, “I can sleep when I’m in the pencil case” a little more than I normally do in my regular life. When people walk up to me, I want them to see my smile, to feel my positive energy. I want to see what other parts of the world I can explore, what other things in life I can experience. I want to feel more alive and free in my day to day life, which I know is a challenge… but it’s something I want to try.

So that last Camino conversation, with Andrea, it was perfect. Because it was all about this kind of stuff. He talked about how the Camino will always be with him, that he can carry it within him wherever he goes, in whatever he does. I thought this was a powerful message to hear on my last night in Santiago, and the words repeated in my head as I walked back to my pension, as I finally climbed into bed, as I drifted off into that much needed, very deep sleep.

The Camino is always with me.

The Camino continues; Santiago to Negreira

August 2, 2014

Back on the Camino! I was only gone for 5 days, but man, it’s good to be back. What am I going to do when the walking is actually and finally over?

I’m back, but it’s different. I don’t feel like I’m on a pilgrimage anymore, I feel like I’m taking a long walk to the beach with an old friend.

Which is exactly what I’m doing.

Sonal met me in Santiago on Friday morning, and we spent the day in the city: stopping by one of my favorite bars for cafe con leche and tostada, walking through a park to get a sweeping view of the city, attending mass in the cathedral, drinking wine, eating a big dinner of grilled fish and vegetables.

It was a great day, but it didn’t really feel like my Santiago anymore. I saw one familiar face the entire day; there is a brand new class of pilgrims in the city, just like there is every single day. It reminds me that even though the Camino feels like mine, I share it with hundreds and thousands of others. I was just a blip in its history.

We headed towards Finisterre this morning at 7am, bundled up in our rain jackets. If I needed confirmation that my pilgrimage is over it was this: a gray day full of rain. I know I was incredibly lucky on the Camino, I only really had one rainy day, and even that wasn’t so bad (it did rain several times on my trip, but I timed it perfectly by hiding out in cafes and bars until the rain passed). But there was no hiding from the rain today. We walked 6 kilometers before finding a bar for coffee, most of it in a steady rain.

Where’s the Camino magic that I’d gotten so used to? The perfectly placed bars for my much needed morning cafe con leche? The sunshine and cool morning weather? After climbing 200 meters today, I should have been treated with a stunning view, not fog and rain clouds.

Or maybe the magic is still here, but in a different form. I was so mentally focused on the end of the Camino and Santiago and saying goodbye to my friends that when I started walking this morning, it hit me: I get to keep doing this. I get to squeeze all of my things in my pack again. Don’t forget the bar of soap! Where’s my Icelandair pillow that I stole from the airline and have been lugging around for a month just in case I might need it even though I’ve never needed it? Make sure the sleeve of Maria cookies is accessible in the front pouch of my pack; coat Vaseline on my feet before putting on my socks; grab my walking stick and take my daily selfie before starting the walk.

I get to keep doing all of this for a few more days. And today, after the steady rain stopped and we walked in a cool mist, after the strong and milky cafe con leche, and somewhere in the middle of a 200 meter ascent, my face broke into a smile. I was back on the Camino, and I get to keep walking for a few more days.

And I get to do this with a friend. It’s a completely different experience from what I’m used to, and I had to remember to slow down my usual fast pace just a bit, and I had to remember that what has become second nature to me is all brand new to my friend.

But it’s great to have someone familiar here, someone from home. Even though I had friends surrounding me on the Camino, it’s different to do this walk with an old friend, and there’s comfort in always having someone to eat with, someone to pick an albergue with. And what a great experience to share with someone I’ve known for 20 years.

So we’re in Negreira, staying at a new and modern albergue with one of the kindest hospiteleros I’ve met yet, getting a small history lesson on Galicia. We went to a local place for a cafe con leche and in addition to the coffee we were given a shot of some sort of very strong liqueur. We made a spaghetti dinner in the albergue kitchen and shared it with John, a man from Arizona with long blond hair and a sweet nature. Two Spanish boys just spent 20 minutes trying to open a large can of peaches that probably weighs several kilos, and I took a victory photo for them with their opened, mangled can. There’s a guy outside whittling and carving a walking stick, and I’m drinking the last sips of a decent, 3 euro bottle of Rioja wine.

This part of the Camino might feel different, but it’s still the Camino. And I still have a few more days of getting to be a pilgrim.

Heart and soul and 5km; Day 30 on the Camino, from a little village somewhere past Salceda to Monte Gozo

July 26, 2014

5km to go. I stopped in a place called Monte Gozo and it’s a little bizarre. It’s like a huge, deserted complex for pilgrims. There are other pilgrims here, but it’s such a large and isolated campus that it feels empty and desolate. I’d heard from a few people who were here in the last few days that it’s a bit like a ghost town, and I think that description is accurate. Empty playgrounds. A boarded up supermercado.

I wasn’t sure how to approach these last few days of the Camino. When I stayed in Portomarin three nights ago, I decided that if possible, I wanted to try and stay in small albergues for the rest of the way. The crowds add such a different feeling to the Camino, and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. That plan worked well two days ago, when I found a small, private albergue in a quaint village, where chickens and cows roamed the streets, and where I could sit for hours outside, drinking tinto de verano, eating potato chips, writing in my journal, and talking with other pilgrims.

Yesterday I met up with Adam in Arzua, where most other pilgrims stopped for the day. We decided to keep walking a few kilometers further, to try our luck with a smaller albergue. We walked a few kilometers, and then we walked a few more. And then a few more. There weren’t many accommodations and what we could find had no beds left.

At some point on the Camino, a bit before the 100 kilometer point, markers started appearing every half kilometer, counting down the distance to Santiago. And as Adam and I walked, I watched those markers tick past: 40 kilometers to go. 35. 30!! 25. 24.

We stopped in a town 24 kilometers outside of Santiago and I knew that I could easily do that distance in one day, but I wanted to stretch it into two. My plan- for as much as I can actually plan anything here- is to leave early tomorrow morning for a sunrise walk into Santiago, to get in with plenty of time to take photos and drink a cafe con leche and store my pack and go to mass at noon.

I feel very uncertain about the end of this experience. I’ve wanted to have ‘perfect’ Camino days as this experience is ending, but I can only control so much. The Camino is different with so many people walking; the scenery isn’t as beautiful and breathtaking as it was a few days ago; somehow, my body has decided that it’s about had it (wasn’t I just saying how strong I feel? I AM strong, but I’m also tired. I think because my mind knows that I’m almost done, it’s told my body to wind down).

All of that being said, I did manage to walk completely on my own today. It helped to have started about 12 kilometers away from the large groups of pilgrims, so for my last full day of walking, I had mostly peace and quiet. I tried to think big thoughts: all the stuff that you’re supposed to be thinking at the end of a pilgrimage. Things like- ‘What have I learned?’ ‘How have I changed and grown?’ ‘Where am I going next?’ ‘What meaning can I take from this?’ ‘How will I change when I get home?’

But instead, all I could focus on were the steps. One foot in front of the other. The pain in my right calf (day 30 and my leg started hurting, go figure). The small pebble in my shoe. The humid air and a hyper-awareness of my body odor. Did I put on deodorant this morning? Was the coffee I drank decaf? Why don’t I have more energy? Where in the world did I put the second pair of headphones, did I actually lose another pair? Can I reach my arm around my pack and find my banana without having to stop and take the pack off? Where can I stop for another cafe con leche? Can I pass those pilgrims ahead of me? I can definitely pass those pilgrims ahead of me.

The time for deep thoughts was not this morning. And I’m not sure it will be tomorrow morning either: I’ll only walk for about an hour, and I think the road will be crowded.

But it’s okay, I’ve had plenty of time to think on this walk, and I’ll have plenty of time to think about it after I’ve finished. And besides, it’s hard to fully process something while you’re still in it.

I think I’ve written about this a little already, but I heard it described so well a week or so ago that I want to write about it again: this idea of the Camino being divided into thirds. David, a man from Ireland, said two things. The first was that the Camino really begins after the walk ends, and it’s something that I’ve heard several times before. Then he talked about the three parts of this journey: the first 10 days or so are about the body, the second 10 days are about the heart, and the last 10 days are about the soul.

And I liked that, especially the third part. I’ve had so many deep and soulful encounters in the last part of this walk and I think it’s been an aspect of this trip that I’d been anticipating and waiting for. I’m not sure if I’ve sought out these connections and moments or if they’ve appeared because others are in this frame of mind as well. But they’ve been here, and they appear so quickly and effortlessly. First it was Masa-Hiro, a man of Japanese descent who was raised in Peru and has lived in Malaga for 13 years. I walked with him out of O’Cebreiro and we played the ‘animal game’, which sparked a conversation about what we are looking for, how others perceive us, who we really are.

I ran into him again a few days later, sitting on a bench outside of an old stone home of an Italian woman who’d been living in Spain and offering coffee and fruit to pilgrims as they walked past her house. There was a wooden table filled with juice and peaches and coffee cups, tattered Tibetan flags strung from a tree, and several small dogs lounging in the sun. As I approached and Masa-Hiro saw me, his face lit up and he rose to greet me. He introduced me to an Argentinian woman sitting next to him, and a few minutes later Eva walked up, a woman I had met in St Nicolas nearly two weeks before and hadn’t seen since. The 20 minutes I spent at that little outdoor oasis felt a bit mystical, and when I stood to leave, Masa-Hiro gave me a strong hug, and the other women embraced me as well.

Two nights ago I was eating dinner at the small albergue in the tiny, quaint village, and I had an amazing conversation with a woman from Montreal, Lucy. (And an amazing meal: a huge crock of chicken noodle soup, salad, pork, frittata made from the eggs of the chickens we’d seen running around an hour earlier, chocolate mousse). The conversation with Lucy felt so fitting for this stage of the journey: she talked about her story of why she was here, and the conversation evolved into a long talk about love and loss. At one point I sat with my chin in my hands and probably a far off look on my face and Lucy said, ‘Ahh, this conversation has made you sad.’ I thought for a moment and replied, ‘Yes, but the sadness is okay, because it’s part of my experience. But I have so, so much happiness too.’

And I do have a lot of happiness. I’ve been so happy on this trip, and so often I’ve felt like I’ve been too lucky to feel this happy. It’s the mark of a good Camino, I suppose.

5km to go. Time to end this long walk.

Next Post: Santiago! Day 31 on the Camino Frances

A Perfect Camino Day; Day 25, Herrerias to Fillobal

July 22, 2014

Once again I’m not sure exactly where I am. Somewhere in Galicia now, about 4km before Triacastela. Not having a guidebook, a friend or group to always walk with, or any set plans can be a wonderful thing: I usually start my day with a general idea of where I might end up (I have an outline of stages that Mirra tore out of her guidebook to give me before she left, and sometimes I ask to look at guidebooks that others carry, to give me an idea of what the next few days will be like). But the beauty of not having a set plan is that I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I wanted to do a few short days, and thought I would stop in a town about 3km back, but when I passed the albergue I saw a group of about 40 teenagers talking and laughing in the courtyard, and I didn’t even break my stride; I walked right past and decided to head to Triacastela, where most of my friends are.

But I’m here instead, in a small village, sitting at a table outside the bar, in a little grassy area with chickens running around and a dog sleeping under a chair, a small apple tree to my right and a mountain view directly ahead. When I saw this space I doubled back to the albergue and checked-in. I’ll catch up to my friends eventually, maybe even tomorrow. For now, like I did a few days ago, I’m craving peace and quiet.

The last few days have been great, but as ever, my Camino experience continues to change and evolve. This time is very different from the beginning. It’s different from the Meseta, it’s different from the last time I wrote.

I am constantly thinking about the balance between time that I need for myself, and time that I want and need to spend with others. Three days ago I was feeling a bit down, and just a bit lonely. I’d chosen to go off on my own and separate myself from most of the people that I knew, and I think that experience was good for me, despite feeling lonely.

But all at once, things changed (and this is one of the greatest things about the Camino). I’d written my last blog post when I was in Rabanal, where I thought I didn’t know a soul. I went to hear the monks sing a vespers service in the village’s small church, and when I came out of the church I felt relaxed and settled. As I walked into my albergue I saw a group of people eating at a picnic table, and a girl looked over to me. It was Saskia, an American who I’d met at some point during my first week here, and continued to see every 3-4 days throughout the walk. The people she was with offered me the leftovers of their pasta dinner, and then I made some lentils and opened the small bottle of wine I’d found in the supermercado (along with the wine, I’d found earbuds for 2 euro, which was perfect since I’d lost mine a few days before. The small shop in Rabanal came through in a big way!).

So I had a simple, delicious dinner that night, and a good, long heart to heart with Saskia.

And I felt revived heading into the next day. More calm and settled about the time I spend alone, but also more aware of the time when I want to be with others.

I have so much to share about every day here, that when I don’t write for several days I have no idea where to start. I could write a thousand words about Cruz de Ferro and leaving my two rocks; I could write a thousand words about the new people I’ve met and the conversations I’ve had with them; I could write a thousand words about the Dragonte route and its beauty and challenges.

Maybe at some point I’ll catch up and share more stories. But for now, I want to share my nearly perfect Camino morning, and what was overall a really great Camino day.

I woke up this morning at 5:45, after a solid 8 hours of sleep. This has never, ever happened on my Camino, and poor sleeping has left me pretty exhausted. But last night was wonderful, I was in a small, quiet albergue, on a bottom bunk with no one above me and no snorers in the room.

I packed my things and left while everyone else continued to sleep, and as I made my way out of the village I ran into John, a Scottish man in his 60’s. I’d met him a few days before, and we spoke for a minute about the 8km climb we had ahead of us, and then I moved on ahead (later, I saw Joe and Adele, who told me they’d run into John later in the day, and he called me a ‘greyhound’ because of how fast I started climbing up the mountain. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a greyhound, but I DO walk fast, and probably faster after a good night’s sleep).

I climbed 4km and after yesterday’s extremely challenging climb (along with 6 other pilgrims took an alternate route called Dragonte which involved three mountains; we were the only 7 pilgrims on the route that day), I was able to climb fairly easily. Just as I was really tiring, I reached a town and, like a mirage, I saw an open bar (at 7:20am!). So I sat and enjoyed a cafe con leche and a croissant, and then climbed the next 4km to O’Cebreiro and I felt like I was flying.

It helps that I wasn’t carrying any food in my pack. Often I have at least one can of tuna (and at some point on this Camino I was walking around for 4 days with three cans of tuna fish), but I usually have more. The other day I was noticing how heavy my pack felt, and I mentally scrolled through what I had shoved into my bag that morning: half a baguette, a big chunk of cheese, a hard boiled egg, two peaches, an apple, a bunch of cherries, a tomato, two cans of tuna, and a bag of candy. Way too much, and I’m amazed I could fit it all into my pack. But at this point on my Camino, walking for over three weeks, I can handle carrying a lot.

But this morning I felt light, and it was probably because I didn’t have an extra 5 pounds of food in my bag. On the way to O’Cebreiro I passed a small town where I saw the Italian group outside having breakfast. They cheered when they saw me and Carol stood up to give me a hug. Laura, the 12 year old, asked where I was staying that night, and said she hoped it was the same town where she would be.

I continued my walk, meeting a man from Chile who was walking very slowly, but smiling constantly. I made it to O’Cebreiro, stopped for another cafe con leche and tortilla, then ran into Ibai on my way out of town. We accidentally walked a kilometer or two on the main road, realized we went the wrong way, then doubled back to find the natural track.

Today’s walk was breathtaking. I crossed into Galicia, and I’ve heard that this is the nicest part of the Camino, and from today, I can believe it. The weather was beautiful, there were near constant mountain and valley views, there were cows and chickens and horses and dogs everywhere. Quaint villages, so much green, and as the day progressed I had a lot of time to walk alone.

But I also met several new people today and had some great conversations, and it reminds me of how incredible this experience is. Geraldine and David have been walking since St Jean but today was the first day I encountered them; Anti started her Camino today and I met her minutes into her walk.

I walked with and passed by friends I’ve gotten to know over the last several weeks, I’ve had moments of connections with people I’d only just met, and I had time to myself to enjoy the beauty of where I am and how magical this experience has been.

And now I’m in this tiny town with a cold drink and the sun slowly setting into the mountains. I’ll have dinner soon with some new friends, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and walk… somewhere. About 6 days until I reach Santiago, and I’m trying to soak up as much of this experience as I can.

Next Post: Day 28 on the Camino Frances

To stay or not to stay; alone and together, Day 20 on the Camino: La Virgen Del Camino to Villares de Orbigo

July 16, 2014

I have a ‘note’ in my phone of things that I’ve jotted down since starting the Camino. Advice from others, tips on albergues, song and movie recommendations, etc. I just glanced at it and at some point I’d written: ‘Leon- DON’T stay at the monastery’.

Guess where I stayed in Leon two nights ago?

It could have been worse, but it was the second night in a row of not great accommodations. Hot, crowded, not super clean. But the shower pressure was great and they provided breakfast so I really can’t complain. And this is what I’ve learned when it comes to albergues and towns on the Camino: it’s all hit or miss. Sometimes I’m going to stumble on an amazing place or stay in an amazing town, and sometimes I’m going to stay in some real dives. But especially as I’ve let go of planning, I’m realizing that I just need to take what comes: the good, and the bad.

And really, the bad isn’t so bad. My Camino continues to be pretty amazing, and I’m still not sure how I’ve gotten so lucky. I want to believe that some of it is my outlook (today’s walk was super hot, next to a busy road for just about the entire 30k; I tried to find the alternate, scenic route but somehow was fed back to the main road, and at some point I lost my headphones. And my feet hurt more than they ever have, I think because it’s been so hot and they started to swell. But sitting here, settled into an albergue, drinking a glass of red wine with lemonade (it’s delicious!), I’m feeling good, despite the sub-par day). So some of it is my outlook, but some of it is just pure luck. My body is holding up, my spirits are holding up, and I’ve met the best people. I’m lucky.

Getting through the Meseta, and coming in and out of Leon, presented some challenges. And some were challenges that I hadn’t been expecting. I came into this walk knowing that I was walking alone, and the more I walked, the happier I was that I was here alone. Mirra and I paired up, and I think we were a great match for each other: we usually walked separately, and I think always felt that we could each go off and do our own thing when we wanted or needed to.

After Mirra left I was looking forward to truly walking some of this Camino on my own, but then I met some new people, and one in particular who I liked being around. In Leon I was faced with a decision: continue on by myself and do my own walk, or stay with someone and no longer have a solo Camino.

Maybe the decision never had to be so black and white, and maybe the decision I made- to continue on my own- will change and evolve as I keep walking. Maybe I will meet my friend at some point on the way, or at the end, and I will want to make a different decision. But for now, what has felt right, is to go off on my own for awhile.

Trying to figure all of this out- the social part of the Camino and the friendships and the connections and the hellos and goodbyes- has probably been the most challenging part for me. In real life, I don’t meet people like I do here. Every day, on the Camino, I have so many conversations, sit with so many different people and have coffee, or lunch, or wine, or ice cream. And I’ve loved this part so much. So much more than I expected.

And if I’m not careful, this Camino could turn into one big party. It would be so easy to stick with the people I’ve gotten to know, to always have meals with them and drink bottles of wine, and walk and listen to music and sing and dance. And there’s some appeal in that- a lot of appeal.

But I’ve realized that I’m not just here to meet people and have fun. That part has been important, and I think I’ve done a stellar job of it. But I’m here for something a bit more, and now is the time to figure some of that out.

So today I walked very much alone. I’d stayed at an albergue just on the outskirts of Leon last night, and I expected to now know many people there but it turned out that so many of my favorite people were there (this happens a lot). But it was also just what I needed: to make a big salad and share with a few people I’d gotten to know, but weren’t close with. To sit after dinner and play cards with the four Italians I always see in the mornings when we all stop for coffee. To stay up with Laura, the 12 year old Italian girl, and Nolan, the 10 year old Vermont boy, and have them show me card tricks.

Today’s walk was challenging, but overall I was happy that I made the decision to be on my own. I stopped for coffee, I stopped for ice cream, I stopped to put my feet in a cold river and eat tuna and cheese and cherries. Since I lost my headphones I sang to myself- long songs, like American Pie and Thunder Road.

I passed through a tiny town and wasn’t sure if I should stop or continue on for another 15 kilometers, and then I saw the albergue. A yellow building with painted blue shutters. I glanced in through the open door and I swear I saw a little paradise, and then I was convinced of it when I walked in further. This is the most beautiful albergue I’ve stayed in: a small courtyard in the middle of the building, a wrap around porch on the second floor with wooden chairs and an old couch and pots of bright red flowers. My room is beautiful, with wooden floors and large French windows that open up to the main village street. The bathrooms are modern, there is a small kitchen, and I was offered coffee when I checked in. Perfect.

And for tonight, this is just what I needed, and what I’ve been craving. A beautiful, peaceful place where I don’t know anyone too well. Time to sit by myself and write. Sitting here at the village’s only bar, drinking wine and lemonade, with two Germans at the table with me. Sometimes we talk, sometimes they talk and I write. It’s easy and relaxed, and always a reminder that even when I choose to be alone, I’m never really alone. But for now, alone in the way that I want to be alone.

Next Post: Day 21 on the Camino Frances

Rain, feeling grumpy, a cute Italian; day 8 on the Camino, Logrono to Najera

July 6, 2014

Today started out so well, so I’m not sure when it took a turn for the worse.

I woke up after a good night’s sleep in the parochial albergue; somehow, in a large room of 35 people in bunk beds, no one snored. No one even tossed and turned, or maybe I was just sleeping very soundly.

Once I woke up and packed most of my things, I went upstairs to the dining room where breakfast was spread out. The table was set with plates of toasted bread, strawberry and apricot jam, butter, crackers and cookies. There were large Italian espresso makers boiling coffee on the stovetop, with milk and sugar containers next to the mugs.

It was such a treat to start the day with fresh coffee, and as soon as I walked into the streets of Logrono, I felt so good: my legs were strong and my feet felt great. I passed by a bar where I saw bins of fresh bread; I bought a loaf and said hi to a few other pilgrims I’d recognized along the way. The man spoke only Spanish so I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me, but then he opened a plastic bag and offered me a cookie. I walked through Logrono eating the cookie, and it seemed as if every time I got to an intersection and couldn’t figure out the way, someone would point me in the right direction.

But then things went downhill, although it was mostly just my attitude. Dark clouds had been gathering and soon it started to rain (the first time I had to walk in rain so far on the Camino); I was stuck in a cluster of Pilgrims (I would move ahead, then stop to drink water or add/take off a layer, and others would catch up); the walking felt hard. Too humid in the rain, too cold without a jacket. I was uncomfortable. I was dragging.

And I just couldn’t get away from everyone. Sometimes I don’t mind walking with others, but today it just felt like there were so many people around. I wanted to feel like the path was more spread out; I like walking and only seeing a few people ahead or behind me (or better yet, no one).

I found a large tree and a big pile of rocks to duck behind to use the bathroom; I couldn’t have been more than two minutes but when I came out from behind the tree, it was like a tour bus had dropped off a few dozen people. I have no idea where they came from, but there were pilgrims all around, walking with daypacks.

I finally made it to the town where Mira and I had been thinking about staying; it was small, with a few streets and two bars and one albergue. I passed one bar and looked inside to see about a dozen people I knew. Then I walked up the street to the other bar where some locals were hanging out. I got a coke, sat outside at a table, and started writing in my journal.

It’s a strange contrast here, to be on a pilgrimage and want to experience solitude and space, but to also be part of this large community that is so welcoming and warm. I’ve loved the people I’ve met, and part of me wants to follow the typical stages and stay where I know everyone will be. It is so wonderful to walk into an albergue and be greeted with smiles and even cheers.

But today I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to be apart from everyone. I was sitting at the bar, thinking about this, when a beautiful Italian boy pulled up on a bicycle (I think stuff like this only happens in the movies, and on the Camino). He took off his helmet and set his things at a table, then turned to me and gave me a big smile and an “Hola! Buenos dias!’ We each sat in silence for awhile, and then started talking. He must have been young- in his early 20’s- with dark curly hair and clear blue eyes. We talked all about the Camino and the experience and where we were from and what we do and then quickly, like things usually go here, we talked about deeper stuff. About the same things I’d just been writing about: solitude versus community. Making connections and then losing the people you make connections with.

Mira came up to the bar and we decided to keep walking to the next town. We said goodbye to the Italian boy- Jeremiah- and he gave us each big hugs. As we walked away he called out after us, ‘I hope you have a beautiful life!’

My day turned around after this. I was still a little grumpy and craving some time to myself, but I was able to drop most of my negative attitude. The clouds cleared away and we walked on a path that looked out to a panoramic view of the mountains. I listened to music, and then walked with Susie and Mira into Najera. We decided to splurge and stay at a private albergue, in a room with only 2 bunk beds (a good choice, because we later saw the municipal albergue with 90 beds in one room, many of them pushed together. And rumor had it that there were at least 6 people snoring loudly that night).

We went out for wine and tapas, then did some grocery shopping. Before making a big salad in the albergue kitchen, we took a bottle of wine and a bag of potato chips down to the banks of the river, where we stretched out on the grass and talked about life. I continue to be amazed at the potential for meaningful conversation on this trip, and how easily people open up about their lives and the things that they struggle with.

I thought about how I’d been tempted to be alone all day: to walk by myself and to stay in the tiny village and to go off and write and do my own thing. And if I’d chosen to spend my day that way, alone, it would have been okay. But sitting with Mira and Susie, drinking an amazing bottle of La Rioja wine, hearing incredible life stories… that felt right.

And it made me think about what the Italian boy said: that even if the connections are fleeting, the encounters are beautiful.

Next Post: Days 9 and 10 on the Camino Frances