Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago (15 page)

Slowly,
he continues on. I empathize with his frustration, trying to find the
right words. Speaking another language can be maddening.

“
I
want to really experience and feel the earth beneath my feet,” he
taps the ground for effect. “I want to be a real pilgrim!”

I
understand what he is trying to say. We have already seen many works
of art depicting ancient pilgrims, and it seems that back in the day,
pilgrims walked in sandals, sometimes barefoot, and carried only a
small satchel and a gourd for water. All the while trusting that what
they needed would be provided. The simplicity of the ancient Way.
That is what this modern day pilgrim is looking for.

The
lazy afternoon fades to night, and after a dinner of well- cooked
lentil stew, we head off to bed. The albergue is absolutely packed.
Amy and I are on separate top bunks in a room full of 20 or 30 people
packed in like sardines. My thoughts turn to the infestation I may or
may not still be carrying in my sleeping bag.

As I
spray my bug repellent directly on the mattress, I am hoping that the
bed bugs literally don
’
t
bite. It has been a few days since my episode in Burgos, and if they
don’t get me tonight, it will prove that I have successfully killed
them. I stare at the ceiling, shut my eyes, and after what seems like
a few minutes, open them again to find that it is morning. The sun
has not yet risen, but the room is already bustling with life. Beams
of light from headlamps flash around the room as pilgrims ready
themselves for the day. Time to start walking again.

“
No
new bed bug bites,” I sleepily tell Amy as we make our way out of
Boadilla del Camino.

“
Yaaawwwwyyyyy!”
she replies while letting out a long yawn.

Our
oasis behind us, we enter the
Meseta
and start to eat up some
kilometers before breakfast. We find ourselves immersed in a thick
fog, which adds to the feeling of isolation. It is cold at this hour,
and it is hard to see any progress as our visibility is quite
limited.

Each
morning brings a new sunrise, 15 Camino sunrises so far. Each with a
personality of its own. Some bright, almost happy, and some somber,
almost wise. Today
’
s
sunrise is eerily beautiful. We pass by a field of sunflowers not
quite ready to bloom. Their giant stalks topped by their huge
lifelike heads all facing the ground in unison as if praying to an
invisible sun God. I can almost see them smile with relief when the
first pink-yellow light of the day reaches their leaves through the
morning fog.

I
don
’
t know why, but my
body is feeling good for the first time since day one in France. We
start to follow a wide canal at a healthy pace, and before long, our
stomachs begin to growl for breakfast. The search is on for the first
bar. We walk into the first place we see, and the owner takes one
look at me as I limp inside to order and tells me that I am not going
to make it.

“
You
have knee pain?” he aggressively asks. “Where?”

I
point to just below my kneecap.

“
You
will not make it to Santiago de Compostela.
”
He shakes his head. His co-worker emphatically nods in agreement.

“
We see many pilgrims with
knee pain. You will not make it,” he repeats.

They
both have managed to piss me off instantly, and I give him the best
look of disapproval I can muster. Who does he think he is telling me
I won
’
t
make it! “Yeah, well screw you,” I whisper under my breath. Just
quiet enough so they won
’
t
hear me. I storm out with my fresh squeezed orange juice and tortilla
espa
ñ
ola.

“
Mmmmmm
that looks good,” Amy digs in.

“
Well
the guy who made it is a prick,” I reply.

“
Huh?”
Amy asks between bites.

“
Nothing,”
I reply. “He told me I won
’
t
make it to Santiago.”

“
Wow.
What a jerk. Better burn the place down,” Amy sarcastically
replies. “You can
’
t
run fast enough, though, so we better negotiate a getaway car first.”

As
we sip our coffee outside, we see our familiar international friends
stop or pass and say good morning and buen Camino. The two
Australians, Peter from Ireland, and an artist friend from London
pass by and wave. After refueling, we continue on our way. I am in
the zone today and physically improving. A wave of hope washes over
me.

“
I
am feeling better!” I tell Amy. “It is amazing what changes 24
hours can bring.”

“
Me
too!” she replies enthusiastically. We may be able to do this in 30
days! The walk today is not particularly beautiful as we follow
highways carrying speedy cars but who cares! We are making great
time.

The
entire route today is completely flat, which is also giving my knees
a much-needed break.
We
take
our time passing through
s
leepy
villages, stopping to take pictures of
donkeys
freely
roaming the streets. As we eat a packed lunch of cheese and nuts
while sitting on an old wooden bench, a pair of donkeys casually make
their way to our location. They stop and stare at us like dogs
begging for some food.

The
brown landscape matches the brown walls of the villages out here as
if camouflaged from an unseen enemy. We finally
mak
e
our way to Carri
ó
n
de los Condes.
As
we enter town, we are aggressively pursued on the street by people
offering places to stay. We talk with one girl offering a private
room at a hotel in town, and we agree on a price. She leads us
through winding streets to the establishment, up some stairs, and
sits us in front of the friendly hospitalero. We have been
successfully fished from the street, but I don
’
t
care. A private room and sleep sounds great to me.

Again,
I feel a twinge of guilt at opting for so many private rooms, but the
experience of not sleeping and cramming into
rooms
full of people has not been something I have enjoyed up to this
point. Still, I can
’
t
seem to shake the feeling that we should
be
in an
albergue.
That I am cheating somehow. We enjoy some dinner and rest before
heading back to the room for sleep.

There
is a skylight in our room, and I stare at a group of swallows flying
in the sky above. The wind is strong, and the birds are struggling to
stay in the air. I glance out the window to see giant storm clouds
headed our way. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Tomorrow may be our
first taste of bad weather. Hopefully we can keep our momentum
despite what looks like definite rain.

As
we try to sleep, I keep getting awakened by the neighboring room.
There is a soccer game on, so the people in the room next to us (not
pilgrims) are having a sort of party and have left the door open, TV
cranked and booming. I can
’
t
take it anymore. I bolt out of bed at about 11 p.m. and storm
directly into their room. If I were a cartoon character, there would
have been steam coming out of my ears. They all freeze and stare at
this half-dressed man who just limped into their room. I forgot to
put my shirt on, and I still have a few leftover red bed bug bites
all over my chest.

As
I try to cuss them out in Spanish, I quickly realize I can
’
t
speak Spanish when I am angry, so I just stare at them, making
awkward angry eye contact with the lot. Blood boiling and with as
much fire as possible I finally yell something in English: “SHUT
UP!
”
...
Well
said, idiot. Now, leave.
I think to myself.
I
then
storm out like some crazed madman. To my delight, my mini tantrum
worked.

“
You
sure told them,” Amy sleepily tells me before she starts to dream.

Trail
Days 16—17

Dark
clouds and steady rain greet us as we again find ourselves walking on
old Roman roads at five o
’clock
in the morning. Our usual method of drying our clothes by pinning
them to our backpacks is not working out.

Today
I am really trying to focus on living in the moment. It is easy on
the Camino to think of the kilometers. Just like life, you become
obsessed with where you are going and where you have been. You really
have to remind yourself to enjoy the experience while it lasts.

The
rain continues to drizzle down, but our light rain jackets keep us
relatively dry. I am focusing on a quote I like from Eckhart Tolle
and
The
Power of Now
:
“
As
soon as you honor the present moment, all unhappiness and struggle
dissolve, and life begins to flow with joy and ease. When you act out
the present-moment awareness, whatever you do becomes imbued with a
sense of quality, care and love—even the most simple action.
”
The
simple action for today is walking, step-by-step, towards Santiago.

“
It
’
s
really beautiful out here today,” Amy observes.

“
I
know. What do you think it is about a pilgrimage that makes you grow
as a person?” I ask.

She
replies, “Maybe the fact that we are silent for hours. We
’
re
in nature with no distractions and getting a chance to hear our own
true inner voice. No television, no iPhone, no internet. Nothing at
all to distract you from the lessons you need to learn.” We pass a
clump of trees that break up the monotone gray mist; the tops of
their branches are hidden in the fog.

“
I
agree,” I tell Amy. “It seems like life has far too many
distractions. Back home, any chance at a silent or calming moment is
gone when we reach for our phones to see what
’
s
happening on Facebook, check out Instagram or whatever. At least I
know I do. After which I always feel like crap because Facebook makes
it seem like everyone else is having a way more fabulous life than I
am. It is nice to have a break. I particularly love the fact that not
a soul on Earth can call me right now. The phone will not ring. That
is so liberating.” We continue over a wet gravel trail for hours.
The silence is a sort of walking meditation.

During
a break, we meet a mother and daughter from Florida who are walking
together, and we strike up an interesting conversation. Janice, the
mother, just got done working as a doctor in Haiti and now works as
an acupuncturist. She explains her craft, which sounds like a
fascinating profession.

“
Maybe
I should become an acupuncturist,” I tell Amy after they have moved
ahead of us on the trail.

“
Are
you crazy!?” She laughs. “You hate needles!”

I
tend to do this a lot. I latch on to any career idea that sounds
interesting. This is a telltale sign of someone who is not satisfied
with his or her own work life. I have toyed with the idea of becoming
a school psychologist because, well, Amy is one, and she seems to
like it. After job shadowing her, I realized that kids are terrifying
little beasts. Cute, but it
’
s
not a career for me. I once obsessed over the possibility of becoming
a doctor. The only problem being I hate blood. I also have a new
business idea weekly. Recently, after watching a movie, I decided I
should make furniture from the beetle kill wood in Colorado. The only
problem is I have never made a piece of furniture in my life. “Yeah,
you have a point,” I agree with Amy. “Just a thought.”