I was sitting on a park bench just before the bridge entering Pamplona in the late afternoon sun when a man came up to me and without preamble asked where I had started that morning. "Zubiri," I said. He sniffed and stated that he had started in Roncevalles (nearly 20 km further.) I responded with a sarcastic "Well, aren´t you special," while suspecting that my tone was lost in translation. There are many types of pilgrims on this road and there is a great danger in getting caught up in the race. One wakes at the crack of dawn, dresses in near dark, leaves town before stores open, speed walks across the countryside, arrives at the planned destination during siesta, and goes to bed before the typical spaniard even thinks of having dinner... all without having to mix with the world at all. Of course, while some choose to use the camino to leave the temptations of the world, I have come to terms with the fact that I want to use the camino to see the world in all its beauty.
Some things in life are truly unfair though... world hunger, war, Spain´s tendency to deny visas to east indians, the fact that hostels lock their doors at 10pm yet the Euro games start at 845pm... When Spain played Portugal, I simply broke the rules, fully prepared to sleep outside. However, as luck would have it, there were at least 15 other pilgrims in the bar with me and we slunk quietly and gratefully into our unlocked beds that night, dreaming of saved goals and Spain victories.
And now for the practical...
I have one tiny blister on my left baby toe. Its actually more of a callous. I have a bruise on my right hip and chafing on my left shoulder from my backpack. My nose, knees and ears (ears?) are peeling despite multiple applications of sunscreen. My lips are chapped and my skin is dry but I have never felt so strong. I can climb mountains, swim in rivers, pee in wheat fields, walk with butterflies...
I have stayed in Zubiri where I was introduced to communal showers. I slept two nights in Pamplona, exploring the old city and gorging on churros. I conquered´Forgiveness Mountain,¨ I laid awake well past lights out in an alburgue called Camino del Perdon, I found an oasis and rest at La Casa Magica in Villatuerta and I pampered myself with a bath and a bottle of cava at Hotel Irache. I am currently a couple km outside of Los Arcos though by the time this gets typed, I will have made it to town. I am momentarily hiding from the sun behind a haystack, eating an orange and listening to Paul Simon´s Slip Sliding Away on my solar powered ipod.
I have met so many amazing people... The two welsh boys camping out and crossing Spain fueled entirely on the spanish equivelent of Little Debbies, the amazingly lovely german women volunteers at Casa Paderborn, the incredibly attractive brazilian cyclist who treated the german woman with the respect one reserves for moms and aunties, the beautiful italian and austrialian girls with their mother, the two cute overly tall german boys, one of whom actually climbed Forgiveness Mountain two extra times to look for the bag of ´tobacco´that he had dropped, a lovely English woman who had just bravely quit her job and was looking ahead to unknown possibilities, and a gorgeous colombian woman who shocked me by revealing that she was in her forties though I was sure she was younger than me. We walked together for a couple days as she told me about her work in India.. which explains why I kept accidently calling her Sandhya after my mother in law. She told me that the Camino and life will always provide exactly what you need.
I have eaten the pilgrims menu 5 days in a row, which generally consists of fish and chips but I have finally deviated to a delicious paella and yesterday I had a veggie sandwich the size of my torso!
My camera is holding up well and I would highly recommend the little Nikon 510.. though I am figting a bit with the macro setting and there is now a crack on the screen that is growing daily. I am taking a million pictures but it is when I set the camera aside that I begin to capture images for my soul. For example... the moon rising over an old church, a morning tea and heart to heart chat about life and love with two wonderful women, the pure joy on the faces of the spanish kids as Spain easily won the Euro cup and...
There is a tiny mountain called Monjardin, with the ruins of Castillo de San Esteban guarding it´s peak. As the sides drop away, rocks give over to hearty trees, giving way to rolling vinards and wheat fields. Tucked into the base sits Villamayor, a small town of about 150 residents. In the center of town is the 12th century San Andres church with a sign stating, always open´´
I pushed through the heavy door leaving the sun´s heat behind as I stepped into the tiny church. Angelo (Ahn hay lo) an old man with a gruff voice and firm grip, took my arm, pulling me towards an elaborate silver crucifix tucked behind wrought iron bars and lit from behind. ¨Mira¨he said while pointing to the colorful jewels on Jesus´crown. We chatted in broken spanish a few moments till he pulled me in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. ¨Buen Camino,¨ he warmly said. As I reached the heavy door to leave, I looked back to see that Angelo had resumed his place at the foot of the cross, his eyes on the face of God.
