A Million Steps (13 page)

We liked each other immediately. Before the initial ride, I spent about 30 minutes in her living room listening to her life story. She had enjoyed a successful career at IBM. She had travelled the world and lived in developing countries. Over the next few months our friendship grew during our weekly rides to the hospital. At some point, she began to call me directly and only used FIA when I was not able to provide transportation.

Over the following years, our friendship blossomed and we became very close. When she received good or bad news regarding her cancer, I was typically the first person to learn about the new status. When the news was grim, I was often the one who needed to be uplifted by her overwhelmingly upbeat and positive attitude.

Roberta and I began to spend time with her on a social basis. We enjoyed a few lunches together, then dinner at her house, and she finally became an “honored guest” at our most special holidays, including Christmas and Easter. If a person was keeping a ledger on the benefits of this relationship, it was heavily weighted in our favor!

When I returned from Spain, I was looking forward to taking her to lunch and gushing about my recent experiences. I left several messages on her phone over a three-week period. It was common to wait a week or two for a return call, but three weeks took the level of concern to an uncomfortable level. One day, I finally punched her name into the
Idaho Statesman
on-line obituaries. A wave of sadness knocked me down when my deepest fears were confirmed. She passed on October 8, 2012 when I was 24 miles from the Cathedral in Santiago, the end of my road.

While I regret the opportunity to have said a proper goodbye, I celebrate the lessons that this wonderful lady taught me about always being open to new people and LISTENING to their stories. “Their problems may not be life-threatening cancer,” Margo said, “but they are just as significant to the person who feels them.”

Day 16

Camino Art

As I departed León, I left the Meseta behind and began the final 200-mile stretch that would terminate in Santiago. The first third of the trip gave my body strength and endurance. My mind blew free on the flat and windy Meseta. I now looked forward to quenching my soul in the mountainous passages through Galicia.

The night before, the streets of León had been crawling with people. This early morning atmosphere was completely the opposite with barely a sound and rarely a person. The only constant noise was the rhythmic noise when Duran’s metal tip met the cobblestones. Four steps, “clack”; four steps, “clack”; four steps…

While trying to navigate my way out of the city, I came across another pilgrim who seemed to be lost. Tomeo was a young man from Japan. In spite of the significant language barrier, we made a connection each time we discovered the elusive yellow arrows marking our path.

While walking with Tomeo, we greeted all strangers with the standard, “Hola. Buenos días.” In a village, this was typically met with a smile and usually the magic words, “Buen Camino.” But in the crowded cities, people didn’t seem to be as friendly. It bothered my companion that people did not respond to his greetings. He struggled to communicate his frustration. Finally, I understood what he was trying to say. Although his English was broken, his comment was eloquent. “No good face,” he said.

Once again, I thought of my conversations with Steve from the day before. We do give off good energy and bad energy and what we receive is connected to what we give off. Our energy cannot be contained and escapes through the body and face.

We bid each other farewell at the edge of the city. The wind had finally stopped blowing, and the sky was crystal clear without the hint of a cloud. I knew the cool morning would yield to an immaculately pleasant afternoon.

This portion of the path lies very near to a somewhat busy road. I began to think about how easy it would be for a careless driver to accidentally swerve into a pilgrim.

With that less-than-pleasant thought, my mind turned to all of the things that could prematurely terminate my Camino. Obviously, an auto accident would be a horrific ending, but there were many more possibilities. I am sure that physical fatigue has prevented many pilgrims from seeing Santiago. Illness was another potential threat. An infection of a blister or rolling an ankle could also end the trip. Severe weather was always a possible showstopper. The last stretch is very close to the Atlantic coast and is known to be similar to the Celtic region, with unstoppable rain a frequent guest. The fragility of the trip was suddenly at the forefront of my mind.

Sure enough, that led to wider thoughts about my life. A long list of accidents and terminal diseases, completely beyond our control, could result in premature disability or death. Just like each day on the Camino, I understood that life must never be taken for granted. There is absolutely no guarantee that tomorrow will exist, and it if does, our physical condition may limit our enjoyment. There is no way to be happy yesterday or tomorrow. The only time to be happy is now. The only time to be or feel anything is now. In reviewing my life, I can see so many countless hours of useless worrying that took me away from the present moment. That time can never be recouped. The present truly is a gift.

At that point, Steve (still looking like Sting) caught up with me. For about an hour, I enjoyed his intriguing and exceptional outlook on life. I made a note to coordinate a connection between him and Scaughdt, the man who had inspired me to make this trip. We stopped for some breakfast together. I departed while he continued his morning ritual of waiting for Mary Beth.

While walking out of the village, named La Virgen del Camino, I nearly missed a major piece of Camino art. When the path took a 45-degree turn to the left, I looked over my right shoulder to see 13 gigantic bronze statues in the front of a church. In the sixteenth century, the legend goes, a shepherd saw a vision of the Virgin. She told him to throw a stone and to construct a church where it landed. Today, 12 statues of the apostles stand at that spot, with St. James peering toward Santiago. The Virgin Mary floats above the entire scene. The story felt nearly as impulsive and beautiful as my decision to walk the Camino.

Back on the trail, I walked alone for a short time before meeting up with my Hungarian friend Judith. She told me that her friend Annie was still under the weather and was several days behind her. Judith was not optimistic that her friend would complete the trip. Judith was in need of a rest, and we once again parted ways.

The Camino once again treated me to glorious sun, mild temperatures, and stunning scenery. I put on my headphones and, as usual, the ideal song teed up for my enjoyment,
The Rain Song
by Led Zeppelin. This song happened to run for more than seven minutes. It provided so much enjoyment I repeated the song four times in a row, singing along with my walking stick microphone. I think it was better each time.

My camera would not stay in its pink pouch. I snapped pictures of statues, barking dogs, a pair of boots resting on a marker, yellow arrows, brick patterns, keyholes, brightly colored doors, the Camino, landscapes, new friends, my backpack, and even my coffee cup. Duran had his own modeling portfolio at this stage.

I slowly caught up to two men, Simon from Holland and Jon from the U.K., then enjoyed much of that day in and out of their company. We shared stories and belly laughs. They joked about being away from their women (400 yards) and asked me to drop behind and steer them down another path. This joke caused another round of belly laughs. Here were three grown men laughing like children and smiling like there was not a care in the world. Eventually, Jon rejoined his wife, I stopped for a bathroom break, and Simon kept walking. When I caught back up to him again later, he was walking alone and singing a song.

I ended the day at Albergue Jesús in Villar de Mazarife. I had been there for about an hour before Steve and Mary Beth walked through the front gates. The surprise of seeing former acquaintances had been replaced with an expectation that I would always see my peregrino friends.

This hostel had tremendous character. My room, with two sets of wooden bunks, was painted lime green. Each of the other nine rooms was painted its own distinct pastel color.

Drawings and written words from previous pilgrims covered every colorful wall in the place. Long and short missives were written in languages from every corner of the world. I spent hours going from room to room to admire everything. I took at least 25 photos.

One of my favorite images was of a beautiful young woman. The charcoal drawing on a white wall only hinted at her hair and the shape of her face but detailed her eyes, lips, and smile. It was captivating in its simplicity. Another painting pictured two faces surrounded by a red heart on a green wall. The profiles showed Sven in an eye lock with his lover Susanne. The accompanying text, dated 29.3.2007, read: “Live the good you have learned here.”

I spent the afternoon and evening meandering through the tiny village and visiting with pilgrims from four continents. Don was especially interesting. Although he had spent 20 of his 21 years in Germany, he identified himself as Korean. On the Camino, we expressed our unique identities while we also celebrated our abundant, universal similarities.