A Million Steps (17 page)

Day 23

Calls Home

Without any advance planning, I ended up leaving Triacastela early in the morning with three familiar companions––Annette, Melinda, and Courtney. We began climbing up a densely wooded hill in the dark using our headlamps. Throughout the ascent, we walked through a green tunnel created by the overlapping tree branches above our heads.

Courtney struggled to keep pace with the group, but she decided to expand her comfort zone and push the walk. After the initial hill, the women took off on their own, and I plugged in my headphones to enjoy some music. Alanis Morissette did a fine job belting out
You Learn
as I enjoyed the fresh solitude.

The terrain became rolling hills with sumptuous views of small farmhouses, pastures, and crops. In the middle of nowhere, a small bar was open for business. My friends were waiting for me to join them in celebrating Annette’s 47th birthday. I sipped some fresh-squeezed orange juice and helped the group devour a super sweet pastry that was a substitute for a birthday cake.

We talked about how many more pilgrims might be joining us at Sarria, my destination for the day. Many short-distance pilgrims begin at Sarria because of its location on the Camino. Pilgrims are required to walk a minimum of 100 kilometers and must have at least two passport stamps to receive a
Compostela
in Santiago. It documents the successful completion of walking the Camino. Sarria is 115 kilometers from Santiago and is well served by bus and rail. For this reason, it is a major starting point for pilgrims wishing to obtain the parchment.

I felt bad when some of my fellow walkers complained about the potential to have “rookies” cluttering up the path. It once again reminded me to remove judgment from my life. Just because we had walked from St. Jean did not mean that we owned the Camino and had exclusive rights to its many features. We were not superior beings because we had the time or extra energy to walk all 500 miles. Instead, I tried to put myself in a new pilgrim’s shoes and imagine what type of support and encouragement I would have desired when taking my first steps on the path.

On a humorous note, it was very easy to spot the newbies among seasoned Camino travelers. Nearly all peregrinos lose weight as they walk. As they shrink, their shorts and pants get baggy. In contrast, the new pilgrims still had ass in their pants.

After breakfast, I returned to the Camino, and after a 19-kilometer (11-mile) day arrived at Sarria. With 13,000 inhabitants, the town was quite a bit larger than most on the Camino. I met nine smiling friends at Plaza Mayor to continue celebrating Annette’s birthday. After singing happy birthday to Annette, three people accompanied her to the next village while the rest of the group dispersed to find shelter in Sarria.

Annette smiled and wept as she hugged everyone and thanked them for sharing her day. We were all equally emotional, while still letting her go. No matter how many times I said these difficult goodbyes, I no longer felt a sense of loneliness. People will always walk into our lives to show us something or say something, to love us or take care of us, to put us on our path, and then when it’s complete, they leave. We are left behind with more than we can imagine, which we then share with others…on their paths.

I decided to stay in a
pensión
(single room with shared bathroom) this evening just to enjoy some privacy. While searching for lodging, I ran into Mikkel and Fred. This would become a common occurrence for the rest of the journey.

After showering and doing laundry, I returned to a small bridge on the outskirts of town where a nice boardwalk edged many different outdoor cafés. I wrote in my journal for about an hour. Later in the evening, I returned to this location for some dinner at a local pizzería.

In Sarria, I had another chance to call Roberta from an Internet phone. The front of the store sold candy and ice cream. The back had three phone booths and five computers. The phone booths were not properly ventilated and about 20 degrees hotter than the rest of the store, which was already quite warm. I entered the hot room and called Roberta at work. I could not wait to hear her voice!

She answered unenthusiastically. She blamed it on illness, but my radar received another signal. Afterward, I made two more calls, to my brother and a close friend, who were both clearly glad to talk. It was refreshing to feel that they were interested in hearing from me, and depressing to think that Roberta was not.

Trying not to dwell on the disappointing phone call, I remembered what my Sting replica companion, Steve, had reminded me after our lunch at Bar Elvis.

“Don’t waste precious Camino time and energy overthinking your relationship with Roberta,” he had advised. “If you let it be, it will probably work itself out. You may go home and find that things are just fine.” He told me what I already knew––that arriving back in Boise would answer the real question of our longevity.

Day 24

Taxi Temptations

Day 24 was another short day of walking, with only 22 kilometers (13+ miles) to go. It wasn’t a day of rest for me, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was shorter than my average 17-mile walk on the trip.

I bumped into a young lady from Ireland named Mags. We were together for only 15 minutes, but I remember her well. She was excited about life, bubbling with enthusiasm, and extremely thankful to be walking the Camino. When we came upon a village, I assumed she would like to stop and get some coffee. She declined and continued on her own.

At one point on the trail, I passed a lone farmhouse of gray stone. In the front yard, about eight Germans were gathered in a circle, singing a delightful song. In a second-story window, a woman rested her head on her hand and listened with a beautiful smile. At the end, I clapped and yelled “Bravo!” My response must have been inappropriate for the song or setting, because the Germans showed their disapproval. Apparently I had intruded on a private event of some sort. I will never know. For me this was another example of how our best intentions can be misunderstood in our culture or another.

Once again, I found myself in rolling hills filled with lush foliage. My heart took an extra beat when I saw the sign for Santiago, just 100 kilometers away. It was hard to believe that I had walked so far and had only a handful of days until Santiago.

The day passed uneventfully and I arrived early in the afternoon at my destination of Portomarín. In this town, I discovered that history had been moved to accommodate the demands of a new age. Before they built a dam in 1960, they deconstructed the historic church at this site, one stone at a time, and reassembled it at a higher elevation. The old Roman bridge is now just above the water, hundreds of feet below a new bridge. The historic church continues to preside over the new town square at the river crossing as it has for hundreds of years. I marveled again at the resilience of the Camino.

I checked into an albergue and received my bed assignment. Without any planning, Mikkel was in the bunk directly above me. This room held at least 50 beds, making this another amazing coincidence. After my chores, I walked through the village and found Melinda and Annette enjoying some coffee. I joined them for a bowl of lentil soup. When we had said goodbye yesterday, I had been pretty sure it was for the last time. I tried to change their minds about continuing on that day, but to make Santiago on their timetable, they needed to walk 30 kilometers (18+ miles) per day. We joked about taxis but they ultimately forced another goodbye.

Taxis were the ultimate temptation on the Camino.

At strategic viewing points, various companies affixed advertisements for “Servicio de Taxi” to walls, trees, and signposts, inviting pilgrims to call for a ride at any time. At major Camino intersections, taxis would park next to the trail, soliciting passengers. Drivers would go so far as to cruise slowly by pilgrims, calling out their offers of low fares, warmth, rest, comfort, speed, and anonymity. I sometimes thought that they were like hawks, going in for weak prey.

Without a doubt, taxis provided valuable service. They offered transport for people, of course, but also for backpacks from one lodging to the next. Many pilgrims preferred walking the path with daypacks only and appreciated this service. Taxis also provided a welcome option for people who were ill or injured or otherwise incapacitated on the Camino.

But for me, they were a temptation. I wondered if I shouldn’t just let them carry my pack one day. Or just give me a day’s rest. I even considered taking a cab in the wrong direction to feel the excitement of rapid movement while preserving my “I walked the entire Camino” ego. Like many things, it was more like a fantasy that should never become reality.

That evening, I had dinner with Mikkel. After eating, we joined many of the locals at a bar to watch Madrid play Barcelona in a game of soccer. Being from the U.S., my knowledge and interest in this sport was minimal. Mikkel laughed at me and told me that this game was probably the most important game of the year in all of Europe. He also explained that he had a chance to play professional soccer but had opted for a rigorous academic education. My admiration for this young man increased again.

I had a blast watching the game in a bar filled with local people. The room was completely packed, and we were elbow-to-elbow sitting in every available chair. The back of the bar was standing room only. I understood the basics, but the rules and idiosyncrasies were foreign to me. Mikkel was very patient in answering all of my questions. It was the first time I had ever watched an entire soccer match. In the end, the game was tied. He rolled his eyes when I asked about overtime play.

Before going to bed, I told Mikkel that I was an early riser and would probably not see him tomorrow. He agreed and said goodbye.