A Million Steps (14 page)

Day 17

Marathon

I departed Albergue Jesús on a Sunday, although days of the week really did not matter on this trip. The temperature could not have exceeded 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.5 Celsius). The skies were crystal clear and the stars in full bloom. The moonlight shone so brightly I found my headlamp unnecessary. This was a new experience, and it brought me an inordinate amount of happiness.

I sensed the impending sunrise and repeatedly looked over my shoulder. The sky continued to lighten but the sun seemed to be taking its time to arrive. An endless string of gigantic electrical transmission towers supported three tiers of wires along the narrow road that served as the Camino on this morning. The earth was pitch black and the towers were invisible up to the horizon where they joined the trees in silhouette. When the sun finally crested the horizon, I witnessed a spectacular sight. The silhouettes behind me were backlit by a fluorescent orange that faded to a crystal clear blue. In front of me, the full moon still laid claim to its place in the sky. Instead of pinching myself to make sure it was not a dream, I took photos and looked forward to replaying the scene at home.

When I arrived at the first village, the moon lingered above the horizon in a bowl of clear blue sky. Three bright yellow arrows on an orange brick wall greeted me at Villavante. The first albergue had already cleared out the previous night’s guests and was wide open for breakfast. The hospitalero of this brand spanking new albergue greeted me eagerly.

I joined two women in a room with five dining tables. These ladies were a mother and daughter team from Germany who were delighted to be here. We did the best we could to communicate in spite of a significant language barrier. It always amazed me what can be said with a smile.

As anticipated, the food was perfect. Two other pilgrims joined us at the table. Fred came from Washington and Pete from Texas. I paid my tiny tab with four Euros and continued this glorious day refreshed.

Back on the Camino, the early morning sunlight majestically lit tall stalks of corn.

I walked for about an hour with Fred and Pete. The Texan could not resist inquiring about my pink camera case.

“Did your daughter pick it out for you?” he drawled.

“Real men embrace pink,” I replied. We all laughed.

I remembered making this joint purchase with Roberta. After reading reviews, we chose a point-and-shoot model by Canon. She challenged me to be adventurous in the choice of color. For the entire Camino trip, the camera and case hung from my chest strap, near my heart.

Around the halfway point in the day, I saw the largest Roman bridge on the Camino. Órbigo Bridge, with 16 grand arches, dates back to the Middle Ages. The Visigoths and the Suebi battled here, beginning in the fifth century. In the nineteenth century, the English destroyed a portion of the bridge during a retreat from Napoleon’s army.

The most chivalrous story, from the fifteenth century, features the knight Don Suero de Quiñones. He challenged all knights throughout Europe to a jousting tournament to prove his devotion to a noble lady who had rejected his declaration of love. He and 10 of his men successfully defended the bridge more than 300 times over a 30-day period. Released from his “prison of love” with honor restored, the Don and his comrades then proceeded to Santiago as pilgrims.

Jousting for love wasn’t an option for me on this journey. But I could seek my next meal. I stopped at a little tienda in the village and bought a tuna empanada, an apple, and an éclair. I wasn’t hungry at the time but decided to pack some food for a dining spot down the road.

Another gorgeous day prompted some hyperactive picture taking while excellent music filled my soul. Dave Mathews had the lyric of the day from
Jimi Thing
when he sang, “What I want is what I’ve not got and what I need is all around me.”

At the end of another village, I found an old man sitting at one of two picnic tables that appeared to be the perfect resting spot to enjoy lunch. We exchanged smiles and I tried to share my sandwich and fruit with the local elder, but he was not interested in the food. My repeated attempts to communicate were marginal at best. The less I understood, the faster and louder he peppered me with his native Spanish language. He did make me laugh when he removed his cap to expose his bald head. He may have been jealous of my Q-ball look.

I resumed walking, through rolling hills now that I had left the Meseta. Suddenly, the Camino came alive with runners, who had started a 16-kilometer race at the large arched bridge behind me. To clear the path of pilgrims, bicycles escorted the man in first place. It was fun to see the colorful participants stream by throughout the afternoon. Just like any other event, friends and family were waiting at strategic points to cheer on loved ones. With some gratuitous solicitation, I extracted a few claps for myself.

The race ended at Astorga, a city atop a hill surrounded by medieval walls. Founded in 14 BC, about 12,000 people live there now. This was certainly a change from the typical small villages. Tired feet convinced me to stay in a hotel for the night. After checking out five places, the lovely and stylish Hotel via de la Plata Spa was the obvious choice for me. From my third-floor room I could see red-tiled roofs, lots of blue sky, and a church tower with six large stork nests.

After taking advantage of each and every amenity in the hotel, I left the premises to check out the city. Connected to the hotel, a covered area displayed a historically significant excavation of a Roman home. A diagram on a placard described every visible room. They did live large.

I sauntered into the main town square and watched the awards ceremony for the marathon. The brightly dressed runners were in a festive mood as officials distributed trophies to the winners. Food and drink flowed throughout the crowd. I enjoyed being part of the celebration.

I walked a bit further past the square and found the Episcopal Palace, with stone towers and turrets that could have been featured in a fantasy novel. I learned that the iconic architect Antoni Gaudi designed it. His buildings were so ahead of their time that they amaze today’s engineers. Seven of his works have been declared World Heritage Sites. His masterpiece, the Sagrada Família in Barcelona, has been under construction since 1882!

After snacking on several sweets, I began to head back toward my hotel. In the town square the runners were gone, but a large Sunday crowd still filled the area. I was pretty taken by the older local people. They filled the majority of the park benches throughout the gathering place. I had a feeling that this was a daily ritual for these residents. I wondered what they thought of the stream of foreigners marching toward Santiago. They just sat, enjoyed the sun, and watched the tourists. There were no hurries and certainly no worries. It was very evident that these people enjoyed being in each other’s company. In my mind, this was the most beautiful sight in this colorful and historic square.

Day 18

Wagga Wagga Vegemite

October 1st was my 18th day of walking. It began in the dining buffet of my luxury hotel. To be able to wake up, enjoy a leisurely breakfast, and leave when the weather was a bit more conducive to walking was just a great way to start the day! In a slow manner, I grazed on locally grown tomatoes, fresh mozzarella cheese, toast, cereal, and a wide variety of thinly sliced meats. In our daily lives, we often eat a lot of food that we don’t need to eat. But on the Camino, meals like this are earned and deserved. Had they known about my capacity to eat, they likely would have added a surcharge to my room.

While enjoying the meal, I was struck by how my entire outlook on life had changed over such a short period of time. I was truly living in the moment every minute of every day. Clearing my mind from the day-to-day burdens of life elevated my senses to a whole new height. I wondered if I would be able to take this clarity back home after the Camino. I took an internal vote and the overwhelming majority voted in the affirmative.

The key, I decided, was to stop worrying about the many things in life that are beyond anyone’s control. When useless worry is removed from the brain, it opens up lots of space for actual living.

In my life, worry takes two distinct forms. The first is a closet full of regrets about the past and the second is an ocean of concern for the future. When I waste thought in either zone, it robs precious time from the present moment where things are usually pretty damn fine.

I left the spa hotel around nine o’clock and walked alone for at least three hours. By staggering my exit time, the Camino was void of other pilgrims.

I thought about the elderly man from lunch yesterday. His attempt to solve our communication problem was more volume and rapid fire. It reminded me of the numerous times in life that I had confronted a problem with my own preconceived solution. If it didn’t work, I just repackaged the existing contents in a feeble attempt to create the illusion of disguise. Many complex and simple problems are easily solved with an open mind that allows for fresh and innovative ideas. Had I employed a simple form of Pictionary, I probably could have drawn quite a story for my lunch companion. More importantly, I might have learned from him.

I finally saw some fellow pilgrims on the path ahead of me—a young couple with three walking sticks. Given the elevated friendship I had with Duran, I was interested in meeting them and their sticks.

They were two young lovers from Australia named Jesse and James. (Really their names. I couldn’t make this up.) They fell in love while studying at the university in Wagga Wagga, Australia. (Really the town’s name.) After their recent graduations, they came to Europe for two years of backpacking and ended up on the Camino. After a few minutes, I asked the obvious question—why did two people have three sticks?

It turns out that giving a name to a walking stick is a very normal and thoughtful event. This became clear to me after my formal introduction to Pepe, Pedro, and Dante. Dante was a natural stick, and the other two were retail walking sticks. At some point in the trip, Jesse and James decided to get rid of the natural stick and replace it with a lighter version. They had become so attached to Dante, however, that they actually considered a burial or cremation. Well, one morning, they accidentally forgot him at an albergue. On that same day, Pedro became part of the family. About an hour prior to meeting me, they were walking through a village and saw Dante with a note attached to his cord. The note read, “I got the wrong stick from albergue. Please take it if it is yours. I’m sorry. Buen Camino!!” They were very happy to recover their original stick. After losing Dante, they had realized his importance. As Sheryl Crow sings in
Soak up the Sun
, “It’s not having what you want. It’s wanting what you’ve got.”

The spirit of the Camino was alive and well in this couple. Their non-stop smiles were contagious. Based on my limited knowledge of Australian food, I asked if they liked Vegemite. They immediately started giggling and responded by singing the
Happy Little Vegemites
song:

We’re happy little Vegemites
As bright as bright can be.
We all enjoy our Vegemite
For breakfast, lunch, and tea.
Our mummies say we’re growing stronger
Every single week,
Because we love our Vegemite.
We all adore our Vegemite.
It puts a rose in every cheek.

Apparently, a girl and boy cannot pass go in Australia without memorizing this short advertising jingle. Without much encouragement, they sang the song at least five times. Their enthusiasm never decreased. Of course, at the perfect time, we came upon a nice village where we enjoyed snacks. I spent about a half hour with them on break and then decided to hit the road. It was another brief but meaningful encounter.

The warmer temperatures required the shedding of clothes. On this portion of the Camino, the morning temperatures were in the 40s and the afternoon could rise to the high 60s. My pants turned into shorts by unzipping the removable leggings. I also repacked my hat, gloves, and windbreaker.

During a rest stop, I took a look at the soles of my shoes and noted a developing problem. The Camino was eating my shoes! The Vibram sole on my right Patagonia was missing a black square tooth. I hoped they would last until Santiago, but this would require monitoring on a daily basis.

Fat Boy Slim’s
Praise You
provided the musical motivation to get me up a rather large hill. During the ascent, Duran again morphed into a keyboard and microphone. I wondered if someone would write e-mails or journal entries about seeing some crazy bald American singing a song while hiking alone on the Camino. I often wrote about my pilgrim friends in daily communiqués to my friends and family. I wondered if I was being introduced to strangers throughout the world in a similar manner.

My final destination for the day was a tiny village called Foncebadón. During the Middle Ages, this isolated twelfth-century hamlet was a popular destination for pilgrims. But by the early 1990s, new railways and roads had long bypassed the village, and the population had decreased to just two residents. The recent resurgence of the Camino provided an opportunity for local business people to renovate some of the crumbling structures for commerce along the 3,000-foot-long main street.

I do not recall any other village that was in such a state of decay. One roof was composed of at least 35 different building scraps including a hood and windshield from a green car. I took a photo. It came as no surprise to learn that a hermit built the church and hospital in the twelfth century. This city gave me an odd feeling that would make more sense with strange developments throughout the night.

I visited three of the four pilgrim hostels and had made a decision, but wanted to be thorough and visit the fourth. Two beautiful women sat on the porch of the parish albergue. They both convinced me that this was the place with real character in the tiny town. Joan was from South Africa and Zenira from Brazil. Meeting them was the highlight of staying in a place that turned out to be a bit of an unpleasant experience.

This was a parish hostel like the one in Grañón. The parishes consider it a holy obligation to care for Camino pilgrims. They ask pilgrims to make an optional donation (instead of a fee) and to prepare and serve a shared meal. Still beaming with the experience from Grañón, I had high expectations for this night.

The guidebook described the albergue as an 18-bed facility with a calm and prayerful atmosphere. The space in the sleeping quarters was much more suited for 10 beds. I took the 17th bed in the cramped quarters and hoped I could use the 18th for storing my gear. I had to lower my head by about three feet to navigate through a small doorway that led to a tiny shower. My elbows crashed into the tiny stall walls as I tried to lather up my body. Had I dropped the soap, there was no hope of retrieving the bar without exiting the chamber.

The hospitalero, Miguel, was an odd fellow from Germany who was volunteering for the first of 14 days. I did some laundry in a tiny sink and was pleased to see a centrifugal spin dryer. I plugged in the machine but Miguel quickly reprimanded me. I could not understand a word he said but had obviously violated a rule.

After my chores were complete and my body clean, I spent some time on the deck overlooking the main street. I met several interesting characters including a woman from Canada named Janine. She was quite inebriated, and it seemed to be a bit more than an alcohol buzz. Her new boyfriend was equally hammered and acting in a very goofy manner. I spent more time with Zenira and Joan, who would become very important people in my journey.

We spent about an hour just watching the stray animals watching us. Several cats and kittens peered over and under the deck trying to scope out the new inhabitants of their domain. At one point, seven goats, each with bells attached, wandered by our porch. They climbed up and down the decaying building in search of a meal. Several dogs paraded through the area looking for and receiving gratuitous love.

I was taking a nap when a young woman showed up to take the last bed. I removed my excess clothes and pack from the top bunk. I had difficulty finding a place for my things in the cramped quarters. Janine had a buzz, but this young lady was completely intoxicated. She was quite attractive and immediately began a drunken flirting ritual with the younger lads in the room. It turns out that many young people love the parish hostels as there is no requirement to donate Euros. Before and after Foncebadón, I never encountered another series of episodes with smashed pilgrims.

Zenira and I were looking forward to preparing the group meal. Commandant Miguel had requested our presence at 7:00 to begin the procedures but neglected to bless us with his presence until 7:30. By that time, about 16 anxious and hungry pilgrims waited to help prepare food. Miguel had some issues with assigning tasks and did not take advantage of the labor force. Zenira received the first assignment, chopping the onions. On her third cut, Miguel began to scream “más pequeño, más pequeño.” If he was not satisfied with the size of the onions, there was no hope to exercise my bread carving skills. One by one, a new task was delegated only to be micromanaged by our host.

With little hope of food at a decent hour, I retreated to the sleeping quarters with hopes of dousing this night with some shut-eye. For insurance, I took a full Ambien, half a Xanax, installed earplugs, and employed my silk sleep mask. I quickly traded hunger for sleep. Well, there must have been a prisoner count and one was missing from the ranks. Miguel came to my bunk and became a human alarm clock by shaking me. In a polite yet universal language, I communicated my desire to remain in bed.