Back home in the Bay Area, bright orange California poppies make a brief appearance in the Spring. I expect poppies to be that distinctive color of our official state flower. In Spain, I was surprised to find poppies of a different color! The Camino led me through fields of green wheat lit with brilliant red poppies. I felt like I was walking through a painting. Where had I seen this before? In Monet, of course!
I’ve seen grapevines all my life in Wine Country of Napa and Sonoma Counties. But walking through the Wine Region of Rioja in Spain was a different experience. We were not whizzing by in a car. I could reach out and touch those vines, feel the texture of the leaves. I stepped on the same soil they were growing in. It was much more real.
We often saw workers in the vineyards trimming and pruning the vines by hand. It reminded me of this passage in John’s Gospel.
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. 2 He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. 3 You have already been cleansed[ by the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. 6 Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. John 15: 1-6
Entering into the rhythm of the Camino, “abiding” in it, brought me joy and meaning. As I walked, I felt an unspoken connection with other Pilgrims walking with me towards a common goal. I also walked in the joy of the present moment. With each step, I felt very much like a branch connected to the Vine of life, being nourished and encouraged to grow spiritually and physically.
I walked by ancient grapevines, twisted and rough. Bright green, pliant vines were bursting out of their knarled fists of bark.
One day we passed a pile of grapevines that had been pulled out, and stacked by the side of the Camino. Their fruitful life had ended. New grapevines were being planted in their place. That, too, was a symbol of Resurrection, and gave me new insight into Jesus’ words in the Gospel of John.
For several days I took photos of the beautifully weathered doors I saw as we passed through villages and towns. It’s interesting that modern Spanish buildings favor automatic glass doors.
Yesterday I took a taxi to the Universidad de Leon Hospital and limped into the ER to have a medical professional look at my foot. It was a fascinating window into the Spanish medical system. They don’t take your blood pressure or weigh you or make you fill out any forms. They have a “concierge” guy at the door of the ER who directs you where to go, and a very no nonsense triage guy. It’s so much quieter than an American ER, no TV or paging, and the lighting was subdued, not hospital bright.
I can’t believe I did it all in Spanish! Because no one at the hospital spoke English. The female doctor spoke a little. Had an X-ray done, and also tried to pay. I’m supposed to give the documentation to Kaiser.
Her diagnosis was Plantar Fasciatis. She said I should not try to continue the Camino.
The treatment is RICE: rest, ice, elevation, compression and anti-inflammatory drugs.
My Camino friends from Chicago arrived at the hotel in the afternoon, and we sat in their room and I heard about their days of walking and how tired they were. As we talked, I realized that, for me, walking the Camino was over. I could follow along by bus, but that wasn’t really a pilgrimage. I found so much joy in the walking, and talking on the path, and watching for the yellow arrows, and coming into tiny villages—the whole experience.
It made me sad to come to grips with my situation, even though I knew I wasn’t alone. Many people in our “class of Orisson” were going home with injuries.
So I went upstairs and prayed about what to do, and cried. I had to have a destination for the morning. Astorga or Santiago by bus? Madrid and then SFO? Hang out somewhere for 3 weeks? I talked to Hale on Skype. Coming home seemed like the right decision. I called Delta on Skype and was able to change my ticket.
I met Gina and Caroline in the bar and we talked like Camino friends talk, honestly and with love. They are gifts of the Camino; I’ve learned so much from both of them.
We met in the morning for the awesome Parador hotel breakfast buffet. I decided to give Gina my Camelbak and my copy of the Brierley guidebook for the rest of the journey. The Camino has made me more generous. It feels good to know she has them as she moves into Galicia. We posed at the statue outside the Parador, and then it was time for my taxi to the train station.
I’m in Madrid now. I will keep posting my reflections on my experience of the Camino as I move forward, as well as more photos.
I know that it will continue to teach me and inform my ministry.
Today in Madrid I looked up at the cathedral and saw a statue on the roof of St. James with his staff and shell. Later, I had tapas at an outdoor cafe and noticed that we were on Calle Santiago. He is looking out for me, I think.
I’m having a quiet afternoon in Carrion de Los Condes. (I need to find out what the name of the town means in English, I keep thinking of vultures.) I took a taxi from Fromista to here this morning. It was perfect walking weather, and the Camino went alongside the road, which made me feel frustrated. Such easy, straightforward walking and I can’t do it. The taxi driver was a woman about my age, and she was pedal to the metal , going 120 kph. She spoke about as much English as my Spanish, so we ran through our conversation fairly quickly, but I enjoyed riding with her. She said she transports many Peregrinos who can’t walk.
The Meseta is a wide open plateau area in Spain and about a third of the Camino travels through its small towns. It’s known for being hot. This summer’s wet weather has kept it green and full of wildflowers.
I was delivered to Carrion de Los Condes at 11:00, and found the “official” Albergue, run by nuns, and got in line. There is a guitar concert and communal meal tonight.
The check-in was memorably confused, and personable. The Europeans immediately retired to the kitchen in groups, and made lunch, with bottles of wine. Local farmers had donated crates of tomatoes and cucumbers for “the pilgrims,” and it was tempting to cook.
There’s a very nice vibe here. It’s interesting to be the only American, I think, out of 48 people. Mostly Spanish, French, Italian, and a few Asians.
Since I was early, I have a nice cozy bottom bunk next to a wall. Since I haven’t walked 20 kilometers, like the rest of the pilgrims, I’m not as tired as everyone else, but I need to rest my ankle. Here’s a few photos of the Alburgue.
Back on Tuesday on the 12.2 k to San Juan de Ortega, I did something to my right ankle. It slowly began to hurt as I hiked, and now it’s painful to put weight on it. Ibuprofen and compression bandage sock have been applied; ice is hard to come by. I hobbled around Burgos, and it was feeling better with the compression sock. But it’s nowhere near healed enough to walk 20 k on it.
There was one bus yesterday from Burgos to Fromista, one of the larger towns out in the Meseta. It left at 5:30, so I had all day in Burgos on my own after Monika left. I visited a church nearby–San Lorenzo–and there was Mass, so I stayed. Many well-dressed 70 year old women. Then I had a nice lunch on San Lorenzo street, that winds off the Calle Mayor.
Picked up the pack at the hotel and hobbled over to the bus station. I was definitely the only American there. I had to figure out the ticketing, and then the bus arrived and off we went, out of Burgos into the countryside.
Fromista is about three stages along in the guidebook, and has a landmark Romanesque church, so it seemed like a good choice. Turns out that there aren’t many busses on this part of the Camino.
I got to Fromista and as I was crossing to the church, the French woman from Orisson waved to me! We greeted each other, and then our language skills failed us. But it was great to see her.
The church is very simple, totally different than the usual gold gothic/baroque. 1066! It is the first church I’ve seen that I’d like to celebrate the Eucharist in.
When I came out, someone was jumping up and down across the street. It was Gina from Chicago! She and Kai were sitting outside, and we had dinner together.
The ankle is really disappointing me. I have to recalibrate and not get upset. I will taxi to the next town and perhaps bus to Leon.
My Camino friend Monika finishes her Camino tomorrow and goes back to her work as a surgical nurse in the Cardiac unit at the University hospital in Vienna.
We met back at Orisson on June 5th, so I have known her two weeks. We’ve traveled together for the last week, walking for hours and sharing cheap hotel rooms and claiming neighboring bunks in albergues. I feel like I’ve known her for years.
That’s the way the Camino works. Like college or meeting fellow new parents, you bond with people quickly over a common challenging experience.
We’ve met the Camino in all its richness –cranking up hills, going down muddy ravines, searching for a yellow arrow when the path was unclear. And we’ve shared cafe con leches at all the village bars, explored every village church, and then headed back on the Camino, one step in front of the other. Along the Way, we’ve shared our life stories, bit by bit. We have had so much fun, being silly. I’ve laughed till my stomach hurt.
Monika has done the Camino before, and so, is knowledgable about the route ahead. But she is open to new adventures everyday.
She is a Wise Woman. She always says, “It will be ok,” and “we will see what happens.” Walking through the fields and forests of Spain she’s given me lessons in botany and bird watching. I love the way she draws diagrams in the dirt of the Camino with the point of her trekking pole to make a translation clearer.
Being a nurse, she’s very practical and decisive. Our differences in culture and language make it easier to say, “I’m doing this tonight,” and we do our own thing for the evening.
This morning we both had good news from home, and we celebrated together with a leisurely rainy day lunch.
Our lives at home are very different, but we are friends on the Camino, and, I hope, just plain friends.
I realized that I’ve walked six days in a row, for a total of 126 kilometers! Yesterday, I walked 4 kilometers over my ideal of 20 a day, and my ankle started to hurt. I limped into San Juan de Ortega, an isolated Monastery. We were late getting there, and the “deluxe” accommodations were full. So we stayed in the very rustic Alburgue in the Monastery for 5E. I had wine and a late dinner with my English friends at the only bar in the hamlet and got back to the bunk room just in time for 10:00 lights out. At 2:30 I woke up to a symphony of snoring from all corners of the room. It was a measure of my relaxation these days that I found it funny (for an hour) and then it subsided, and I slept a bit. Then it revved up again between 4:00 and 6:00. The 8 French pilgrims (all my age) sharing the room with Monika and me, got up at 6:30 and the day began. I’m very happy to have taxied into Burgos after 5 kilometers, and to be staying at a hotel.
By now, I’ve stayed at 11 different places on the Camino. Some places practice “transactional” hospitality. That is what we’re used to at home: you pay a fee and receive services, and its very business-like. I’ve shared a 30E hotel or private auberge room with my pilgrim friends, and its very predictable, and safe, with privacy
Then there are the “Pilgrim Pleasure Domes,” like Hotel Jackue in Puente la Reina. They built an Auberge in the basement of a hotel. It had dorm rooms and private rooms, and nice bathrooms, a communal kitchen, laundry machines, and all the amenities of the hotel: the bar, beer garden, masseuse, and a 13E Pilgrim dinner with good wine. Our group had a proper dinner party that night, and stayed up talking in the easy chairs.
I’ve also stayed at family run auberges, where the proprietor lives in the building and is front desk clerk, laundry person, and travel guide. The place in Los Arcos was one of those, and the place I’m staying tonight in Belorado. They are very friendly, carry your backpack upstairs for you, and have a genuine interest in the Camino. The guests are pilgrims, and there’s communal space arranged do people will talk. They’re often in funky, renovated spaces, and very charming.
Orisson was a fancy version. They could charge more because they were the only Auberge on the mountain. They served a communal meal, and asked us to introduce ourselves, which helped us get to know each other. That’s where I met so many pilgrim friends.
Then there are the true Auberges, run by the municipal government or an International Pilgrim Organization. They have a special brand of hospitality. The ones run by Pilgrim organizations have volunteers who come from all over the world to work for two weeks at a time as hospitaleros. They meet you at the front door with a warm welcome, and know what it’s like to be a pilgrim. My first encounter with one like this was at Roncevalles, after the epic walk over the mountains. I had a tough night sleeping with a snorer in the room and the hospitalero helped me move my mattress into the Common Room, where I could sleep. He also gave me the wise advice, “snoring is part of the Camino.”
I’ve been reflecting on all these kinds of hospitality along the Way, and how we can cultivate the warm hospitality of the hospitaleros a and the family run auberges at church. We are called to extend more than “transactional” hospitality, we’re called to be transformative agents of hospitality in Christ’s image. The Camino is teaching me so much, day by day.
My Camino began when I walked up the hill from St. Jean Pied-de-Port. The hike began, and so did the relationship with the physical journey as well as the relationships with my fellow Peregrinos.
Those first few days I really pushed myself physically, and it was exhilarating. As the second week began, I learned that I need to find my own pace, and claim my own Camino. My body was screaming “slow down!” with blisters, rashes, and dehydration. I found I wanted more time to explore the towns, and the sites along the Way.
At Los Arcos, I had a conversation with Joseph, the owner of the auberge, in my broken Spanish, and he said, “You have to walk your OWN Camino.” He’s right, of course. It’s easy to follow the stages in the guidebook and to move with the pack.
Every day on the Camino is full of learning. On Day 10, I feel that I’m on the way to finding my own Camino.
One Footestep at a Time 