Oh friends...to explain to you with mere words the things I have experienced in the last ten days feels largely like a fool's errand...how can I possibly describe the multitude of intense emotions I have lived through in such a short time? Maybe from the outside it seems impossible to experience so much. Maybe it seems shallow or insincere. I feel this could be a story of 10 months, rather than 10 days. A story drawn out over years, for the intensity with which it was lived.
I came to be alone...but the universe had other plans. I found an entire family, there for me from the first moment. I think, if I needed to have one motto to describe the Camino, for me personally, it would be, "Come as a lone wolf, leave as a pack."
So a fool's errand it may be...but I'll try my best.
El Camino de Santiago.
Part 1.
Day 1; 27km. Lugo to Ferreira
My bus arrives at 6:30 in the morning to Lugo, and I stumble off it into the still dark and damp morning air. My senses are blurred from lack of sleep. The woman next to me on the bus having continually fallen asleep on me throughout the night, startling me awake with each touch. Sleep deprivation doesn't seem the best condition to start the Camino on, but I tick it off as part of the adventure.
I discover with relief that the cafe in the bus station is open at this hour, and gratefully sip my cafe con leche, reflecting on what needs to be done before I can officially start walking.
1; Find the post office and ship my bag ahead to Santiago.
2; Figure out where I can get a Pilgrim's Passport. The official documentation of pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago.
As the coffee slowly takes effect on my tired brain and I contemplate this short list, I realize just how much I Didn't prepare for this adventure. I'm not even positive I can get my documentation here in Lugo. Many people get it ahead of time. But there's no point stressing now. I get it or I don't.
I wander the empty streets of the old town as the sky slowly lightens, looking for the post office. The only people awake are a few old men on park benches, and the street cleaners doing their morning rounds.
Eventually I get my bag sent out and set off in search of the Cathedral, as this is my best bet for credentials. I tried to do a quick search online, but the only thing that accomplished was killing my phone battery. This is how I discover my charger doesn't work.
Before leaving Vienna I told Lukas, "I hope there isn't wifi where I go. I'd like to be disconnected a while." I guess being unable to charge my dead phone works too. Be careful what you wish for.
I find the cathedral and the woman in charge of pilgrims. Apparently I'm too honest, however, because when she asks if I'm catholic, I say no, effectively trapping myself in a 45 minute lecture about Jesus, and how it's "never too late to convert". I'm sure she means well.
After escaping her Catholic clutches I follow the shells through the old town and beyond the city walls, but it's all of two minutes before I've lost the path. Off to a good start, I'd say.
I stop a man passing me and ask for directions. He explains very precisely where I should go, but he gives me so much information I become overloaded, and can only recall the first few steps. I wander off in the general direction he points.
When I stop to pull off my jacket, the day well underway by now and heating up, a friendly honk sounds behind me.
The man I asked leans across the passenger seat and calls out the window to me, "Come on, I'll take you to the trail."
Relief floods me.
He gives me a brief history of Lugo as we drive, and then drops me right at the head of the trail. "Buen Camino!"
Finally, the day can start in earnest.
I have no clue where I am walking to today, but that's okay with me. I have no guide about the trail. No cell phone. No information. And no worries. I'm just gonna walk until I don't want to walk anymore.
Or so I thought.
My pace ends up syncing with two boys from Madrid. They are competitive. With each other, and the world, it seems. They walk quickly and don't take many breaks. For a while I'm happy to have people to push me forward, because I tend to walk quite slowly, but as the afternoon drags on, the sun at it's hottest, my steps slow once more. When they say they will go another 11 kilometers, I drop off, not bothering with goodbyes. I turn into the next albergue I see, and the accumulated decisions of the day - from starting late, to the competitive pace, to going 10 kilometers more than I thought I would - lead me straight into the arms of my new camino family.
I stand in the hallway, stretching my legs and feet. Muscles obviously tired, but not nearly as dead as I expected. Another pilgrim exits from the room across the hall.
"Hey, what are you doing? Why aren't you outside with everyone?"
"Oh...I'm just stretching. I don't know, seems you're all friends."
"We are. So are you. Come on."
He doesn't seem keen on taking no for an answer, so I let him lead me out.
"Everyone, I'd like your attention please," he stands at the head of the table, and it quickly falls quiet. 15 pairs of eyes turn towards us. "We have a new friend! Everyone meet Maia."
Day 2; 21km. Ferreira to Melide.
We rise before the sun and begin to carry out our sacred rituals. Salves applied. Knees braced. Ankles wrapped. Feet bandaged. It's my first real morning, but I can already see my routine forming. Sunscreen. Tiger balm for my shoulders and shins. Bandaids for my little toes. Shoes tied. Pack strapped. And finally, "Ciao, buen camino!"
By 10am my breakfast has burned away and my stomach is growling, and I once again find myself relating all too well with the hobbits. I'd like breakfast, and second breakfast, and 11sies, and then lunch. Please and thank you! But I'll settle for my last small round of babybell cheese and a handful of trail mix. Real food will have to wait another 10km.
As I approach the municipal albergue in Melide I spot at least seven familiar faces from the night before gathered on the porch.
"Hey, Texas!" Ivan calls out. "You made it!" He begins to clap and the whole porch joins in, cheering me on in the final steps of the day.
We sit in the pizzeria waiting for our order, sipping cider and exchanging stories and jokes.
"I have to be honest," Edgardo changes the subject suddenly. "I really love the way you live your life. It's really inspiring. Very real. I would love to do it like you, but I just can't quite let go."
And I'm there, once again, wondering what the hell people see in me to come to this conclusion. We just met last night. But I'm learning, however slowly, to stop denying the positive, and to just say thank you. Because who the hell am I to tell them where to get inspiration?
Day 3; 27km. Melide to Salceda.
Last night, as we each finished an entire pizza to ourselves, and split a bottle of wine, Edgardo told me, "You will learn so much about yourself on the Camino. Just walking and being with yourself in the nature."
But I don't seem to be learning much.
Everyone else says they have, or that they constantly do, but I haven't felt this experience yet. I thoroughly enjoy the walking. The atmosphere. The challenge. The community. But I've found no lessons. Maybe I'm broken. Or not digging hard enough. Or maybe, I'm just not as lost as I used to be. I'm crossing my fingers for the last explanation.
I discovered with a shock today that I've been lying to everyone unintentionally. I've been telling people I'm 22 for 3 days...I'm 23. I'll be 24 in about two months.
I guess I was thoroughly lost for longer than I realized.
My brain denying an entire year.
But that's okay. I'm certainly making it up now!
I approach the one bar in Salceda after receiving a text from the group. "Come to the bar, we're having a moment."
Okay...
Our group seems to be just about the only people there, and we take up the whole place, chairs angled to a central point where Edgardo stands. He cheers as Lorenza and I approach, causing everyone to turn and join him in welcoming us.
My face breaks into a huge grin. It is quite a feeling, having 28 people cheer each time they see you at the end of the day. There's never a question of whether or not you're welcome, that's for sure.
We take seats at the back, and the moment continues.
Everyone speaks one by one, each person sharing their favorite moments on the camino, or their favorite things about the group. We applaud at the end of each confession.
"Now is the time to be honest," Edgardo announces. "We are all here for you, listening to you. Say what you feel. Say what you want. We're here."
God, can this just be my life everyday? Can we all just share our feelings honestly and support each other lovingly? I want to cry recalling this moment. Strangers and friends alike, attentive and open and loving.
He calls on me.
"Well...I won't list a favorite moment, because I want to leave that open to the possibilities, but I will say this...I came to the Camino with every intention of doing this thing alone, yet you all found me on my first night. It's really nice to be able to walk alone in the day and be with myself and my thoughts, but at night, when I'm exhausted, I have all of your smiling faces to welcome me into the next town. Thank you for being so open and accepting and welcoming."
And every face is turned toward me. And some are nodding in agreement. And some are misty eyed. And all are smiling.
Day 4; 27km. Salceda to SANTIAGO!
It's dawn. Quiet expect for my footfalls in the dark. When the scent of this particular forest hits my body I can't help but cry. The scent of bark and sap carried on the cool breeze. I inhale deeply and swiftly, trying to pull as much into my body as I possibly can. I need to be consumed by it. It's everything I was searching for. It's all the nameless things. It is Greenbriar and the ren faire. The mountains. Road trips with Ixchel. It is the days of my mother smashing seeds on the fireplace and baking bread in the morning. My father riding bikes with me to school. It is the scent of childhood lost. A good childhood. But gone so quickly. It is everything I want, but have left behind. I thank that forest, Trees of Transformation in the Forest of Truth, for bringing back that innocence, however fleeting.
I burst into tears when I see the sign on the edge of Santiago. I never doubted my ability to reach this sacred city, yet when I see the sign, I feel overwhelming Euphoria. Completion. Gratitude. Connection with all the pilgrims who came before me, and all those to come after. Over a thousand years of dedication. We did it. I did it. I don't have the words to describe what I feel. High on life. Truly and completely. Unstoppable. Grateful. Humbled. So hard to describe.
3km after the border...the Cathedral. The most beautiful building I've ever seen. I walked 100km to look at this building. The emotions it brings are overwhelming.
Mire, Ruud, and I sit in the plaza, staring at the Cathedral. 3 kilometers ago, we were still strangers. Now, though none of us can anticipate the intensity that is to come in the next four days, we are in the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
There is a family near us, and I can overhear them speaking.
"There are a lot of people here in sports clothes. I wonder what's going on."
It makes me want to laugh, but also cry. There is no way this place means as much to you in this moment as it does to us, I think. In your fresh clothes, and fresh faces. Can you understand the beauty that is here?
I've heard many stories of people crying on the Camino. People sure they can't finish the journey. People spent. These stories reached me even before I started walking. One woman tells me, two days out from Santiago, that she thought she liked walking, but she hates it now.
Though I expected to be in the ranks of the sobbing when I first began my journey, these stories still catch me a bit by surprise. And to my delight and relief, I haven't had one moment of doubt about whether or not I was physically capable, and though I have been in physical discomfort plenty of times (the majority of the time, actually), I haven't hated a single step, nor shed a tear from doubt or dismay.
What I have shed tears over, however, is the beauty and resilience of the human mind, heart, and soul. For the people on the Way who were sure to have been told they "couldn't" do this, and who came anyway. Who proved that if you align these three important things, nothing can stand in your way. You can create your world. Your life. You CAN do whatever you put your mind, heart, and soul into doing.
It's busy on the trail today, and I watch the pilgrims ahead of me trudge forward under the hot sun. One by one, marching in a line, they pass the small hunched woman walking slowly on the left. No one says hello to her, and she keeps her head bent. I feel a stab of anxiety for this woman. I see her only from the back, but it's apparent she's a good bit older than the rest of us. The sun and weight of my pack take a toll on me...I can't imagine what it feels like for her. But as I draw closer, another ant in the line, I have to remind myself that everyone out here made a conscious choice to do this.
As I draw level with her, I look over, "Buen Camino," I say softly, and her head pops up.
"Buen Camino," her eyes beam out from beneath her sun hat, her smile matching. This woman has more spark left in her than I had to begin with. She should worry about the rest of us, not us about her.
I cry the moment I pass her. I'm flooded with relief and joy and hope. I'm crying now, writing about her. Some people just beam light.
There's a bicyclist standing in the path, observing his surroundings. He's bigger than most the pilgrims you see out here. He has a flag on the back of his bike with a snail on it.
"Is the snail supposed to be you?" I joke with him as I pass.
"Yup, cause I'm really slow," he smiles.
"But you're on a bike!"
"You'll see."
I doubt I'll see him again. How can I compete with two wheels?
Yet, sure enough...an hour later...there he is. Standing in the path.
I see him a few times throughout the day, and it amazes me each time, that I can keep up with this bike. But when I think about it, this man also makes me cry for the beauty and resilience of humans.
I can surpass him on foot without straining myself...that's a lot of long breaks he's taking on his bike. This challenge must be really tough for him. But he's doing it. He's taking his time, and he's going at his own pace, and he's doing the damn thing. Plus he has a sense of humor about it, which is just the cherry on top.
People. Are. Amazing.
After letting my phone die on day one, I don't attempt to charge it again until Santiago. When I finally turn it on, worried texts from my mom come flooding in. I guess I assumed no one would notice if I wasn't responding because I've never been good at it anyway. Sorry, mom.
"I scared my mom because I wasn't replying," I tell Jorge as we all settle in for dinner.
"Ah, there's no need to worry," he responds. "If you have a problem, you have over 20 people here ready to help you fix it."
I certainly did not come here looking for new friends...but I found them anyway.
Day 5; To Nowhere. Take a Freaking Break.
We decide as a pack to stay two nights in Santiago. We want to celebrate our arrival without worrying about what time we need to rise in the morning and set out. Let's have some drinks. Let's unwind.
I find my body to be more exhausted on my day of rest than it has been on any of our days walking, and my heart matches.
For many of our group, Santiago was the goal, and therefore the last stop. Though I have known these people for only a few days, I feel sadness settling on my heart. The overwhelming excitement and emotions of arrival, mixed with having to say goodbye to so many beautiful faces takes it's toll on me, and though I still thoroughly enjoy Santiago, I feel the weight of loss throughout the day.
I want to get back to walking.
This place is beautiful. The community on the Camino lovely and open and accepting. But it's because we are all here for the same purpose, so we are already connected in a deep way. The challenge is to take this open and accepting attitude back home inside each of us and extend it. To create communities where there were none. To show always the kindness which we so appreciate on the trail. Because we're walking our own Way, always.
"The Camino begins when the Camino ends."
I came to be alone...but the universe had other plans. I found an entire family, there for me from the first moment. I think, if I needed to have one motto to describe the Camino, for me personally, it would be, "Come as a lone wolf, leave as a pack."
So a fool's errand it may be...but I'll try my best.
El Camino de Santiago.
Part 1.
 |
| If ever you're lost, look for a shell, or a random spray painted yellow arrow. Signs of the Way! |
Day 1; 27km. Lugo to Ferreira
My bus arrives at 6:30 in the morning to Lugo, and I stumble off it into the still dark and damp morning air. My senses are blurred from lack of sleep. The woman next to me on the bus having continually fallen asleep on me throughout the night, startling me awake with each touch. Sleep deprivation doesn't seem the best condition to start the Camino on, but I tick it off as part of the adventure.
I discover with relief that the cafe in the bus station is open at this hour, and gratefully sip my cafe con leche, reflecting on what needs to be done before I can officially start walking.
1; Find the post office and ship my bag ahead to Santiago.
2; Figure out where I can get a Pilgrim's Passport. The official documentation of pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago.
As the coffee slowly takes effect on my tired brain and I contemplate this short list, I realize just how much I Didn't prepare for this adventure. I'm not even positive I can get my documentation here in Lugo. Many people get it ahead of time. But there's no point stressing now. I get it or I don't.
I wander the empty streets of the old town as the sky slowly lightens, looking for the post office. The only people awake are a few old men on park benches, and the street cleaners doing their morning rounds.
Eventually I get my bag sent out and set off in search of the Cathedral, as this is my best bet for credentials. I tried to do a quick search online, but the only thing that accomplished was killing my phone battery. This is how I discover my charger doesn't work.
Before leaving Vienna I told Lukas, "I hope there isn't wifi where I go. I'd like to be disconnected a while." I guess being unable to charge my dead phone works too. Be careful what you wish for.
I find the cathedral and the woman in charge of pilgrims. Apparently I'm too honest, however, because when she asks if I'm catholic, I say no, effectively trapping myself in a 45 minute lecture about Jesus, and how it's "never too late to convert". I'm sure she means well.
After escaping her Catholic clutches I follow the shells through the old town and beyond the city walls, but it's all of two minutes before I've lost the path. Off to a good start, I'd say.
I stop a man passing me and ask for directions. He explains very precisely where I should go, but he gives me so much information I become overloaded, and can only recall the first few steps. I wander off in the general direction he points.
When I stop to pull off my jacket, the day well underway by now and heating up, a friendly honk sounds behind me.
The man I asked leans across the passenger seat and calls out the window to me, "Come on, I'll take you to the trail."
Relief floods me.
He gives me a brief history of Lugo as we drive, and then drops me right at the head of the trail. "Buen Camino!"
Finally, the day can start in earnest.
 |
| My starting point. The Cathedral in Lugo. 100km from Santiago. |
I have no clue where I am walking to today, but that's okay with me. I have no guide about the trail. No cell phone. No information. And no worries. I'm just gonna walk until I don't want to walk anymore.
Or so I thought.
My pace ends up syncing with two boys from Madrid. They are competitive. With each other, and the world, it seems. They walk quickly and don't take many breaks. For a while I'm happy to have people to push me forward, because I tend to walk quite slowly, but as the afternoon drags on, the sun at it's hottest, my steps slow once more. When they say they will go another 11 kilometers, I drop off, not bothering with goodbyes. I turn into the next albergue I see, and the accumulated decisions of the day - from starting late, to the competitive pace, to going 10 kilometers more than I thought I would - lead me straight into the arms of my new camino family.
I stand in the hallway, stretching my legs and feet. Muscles obviously tired, but not nearly as dead as I expected. Another pilgrim exits from the room across the hall.
"Hey, what are you doing? Why aren't you outside with everyone?"
"Oh...I'm just stretching. I don't know, seems you're all friends."
"We are. So are you. Come on."
He doesn't seem keen on taking no for an answer, so I let him lead me out.
"Everyone, I'd like your attention please," he stands at the head of the table, and it quickly falls quiet. 15 pairs of eyes turn towards us. "We have a new friend! Everyone meet Maia."
Day 2; 21km. Ferreira to Melide.
We rise before the sun and begin to carry out our sacred rituals. Salves applied. Knees braced. Ankles wrapped. Feet bandaged. It's my first real morning, but I can already see my routine forming. Sunscreen. Tiger balm for my shoulders and shins. Bandaids for my little toes. Shoes tied. Pack strapped. And finally, "Ciao, buen camino!"
By 10am my breakfast has burned away and my stomach is growling, and I once again find myself relating all too well with the hobbits. I'd like breakfast, and second breakfast, and 11sies, and then lunch. Please and thank you! But I'll settle for my last small round of babybell cheese and a handful of trail mix. Real food will have to wait another 10km.
As I approach the municipal albergue in Melide I spot at least seven familiar faces from the night before gathered on the porch.
"Hey, Texas!" Ivan calls out. "You made it!" He begins to clap and the whole porch joins in, cheering me on in the final steps of the day.
 |
| Eli in the mist, waiting for the bite's of the fish. |
We sit in the pizzeria waiting for our order, sipping cider and exchanging stories and jokes.
"I have to be honest," Edgardo changes the subject suddenly. "I really love the way you live your life. It's really inspiring. Very real. I would love to do it like you, but I just can't quite let go."
And I'm there, once again, wondering what the hell people see in me to come to this conclusion. We just met last night. But I'm learning, however slowly, to stop denying the positive, and to just say thank you. Because who the hell am I to tell them where to get inspiration?
Day 3; 27km. Melide to Salceda.
Last night, as we each finished an entire pizza to ourselves, and split a bottle of wine, Edgardo told me, "You will learn so much about yourself on the Camino. Just walking and being with yourself in the nature."
But I don't seem to be learning much.
Everyone else says they have, or that they constantly do, but I haven't felt this experience yet. I thoroughly enjoy the walking. The atmosphere. The challenge. The community. But I've found no lessons. Maybe I'm broken. Or not digging hard enough. Or maybe, I'm just not as lost as I used to be. I'm crossing my fingers for the last explanation.
I discovered with a shock today that I've been lying to everyone unintentionally. I've been telling people I'm 22 for 3 days...I'm 23. I'll be 24 in about two months.
I guess I was thoroughly lost for longer than I realized.
My brain denying an entire year.
But that's okay. I'm certainly making it up now!
I approach the one bar in Salceda after receiving a text from the group. "Come to the bar, we're having a moment."
Okay...
Our group seems to be just about the only people there, and we take up the whole place, chairs angled to a central point where Edgardo stands. He cheers as Lorenza and I approach, causing everyone to turn and join him in welcoming us.
My face breaks into a huge grin. It is quite a feeling, having 28 people cheer each time they see you at the end of the day. There's never a question of whether or not you're welcome, that's for sure.
We take seats at the back, and the moment continues.
Everyone speaks one by one, each person sharing their favorite moments on the camino, or their favorite things about the group. We applaud at the end of each confession.
"Now is the time to be honest," Edgardo announces. "We are all here for you, listening to you. Say what you feel. Say what you want. We're here."
God, can this just be my life everyday? Can we all just share our feelings honestly and support each other lovingly? I want to cry recalling this moment. Strangers and friends alike, attentive and open and loving.
He calls on me.
"Well...I won't list a favorite moment, because I want to leave that open to the possibilities, but I will say this...I came to the Camino with every intention of doing this thing alone, yet you all found me on my first night. It's really nice to be able to walk alone in the day and be with myself and my thoughts, but at night, when I'm exhausted, I have all of your smiling faces to welcome me into the next town. Thank you for being so open and accepting and welcoming."
And every face is turned toward me. And some are nodding in agreement. And some are misty eyed. And all are smiling.
Day 4; 27km. Salceda to SANTIAGO!
It's dawn. Quiet expect for my footfalls in the dark. When the scent of this particular forest hits my body I can't help but cry. The scent of bark and sap carried on the cool breeze. I inhale deeply and swiftly, trying to pull as much into my body as I possibly can. I need to be consumed by it. It's everything I was searching for. It's all the nameless things. It is Greenbriar and the ren faire. The mountains. Road trips with Ixchel. It is the days of my mother smashing seeds on the fireplace and baking bread in the morning. My father riding bikes with me to school. It is the scent of childhood lost. A good childhood. But gone so quickly. It is everything I want, but have left behind. I thank that forest, Trees of Transformation in the Forest of Truth, for bringing back that innocence, however fleeting.
I burst into tears when I see the sign on the edge of Santiago. I never doubted my ability to reach this sacred city, yet when I see the sign, I feel overwhelming Euphoria. Completion. Gratitude. Connection with all the pilgrims who came before me, and all those to come after. Over a thousand years of dedication. We did it. I did it. I don't have the words to describe what I feel. High on life. Truly and completely. Unstoppable. Grateful. Humbled. So hard to describe.
3km after the border...the Cathedral. The most beautiful building I've ever seen. I walked 100km to look at this building. The emotions it brings are overwhelming.
 |
| Where I flung myself upon reaching the plaza in Santiago. Didn't move for quite a while. |
There is a family near us, and I can overhear them speaking.
"There are a lot of people here in sports clothes. I wonder what's going on."
It makes me want to laugh, but also cry. There is no way this place means as much to you in this moment as it does to us, I think. In your fresh clothes, and fresh faces. Can you understand the beauty that is here?
Though I expected to be in the ranks of the sobbing when I first began my journey, these stories still catch me a bit by surprise. And to my delight and relief, I haven't had one moment of doubt about whether or not I was physically capable, and though I have been in physical discomfort plenty of times (the majority of the time, actually), I haven't hated a single step, nor shed a tear from doubt or dismay.
What I have shed tears over, however, is the beauty and resilience of the human mind, heart, and soul. For the people on the Way who were sure to have been told they "couldn't" do this, and who came anyway. Who proved that if you align these three important things, nothing can stand in your way. You can create your world. Your life. You CAN do whatever you put your mind, heart, and soul into doing.
It's busy on the trail today, and I watch the pilgrims ahead of me trudge forward under the hot sun. One by one, marching in a line, they pass the small hunched woman walking slowly on the left. No one says hello to her, and she keeps her head bent. I feel a stab of anxiety for this woman. I see her only from the back, but it's apparent she's a good bit older than the rest of us. The sun and weight of my pack take a toll on me...I can't imagine what it feels like for her. But as I draw closer, another ant in the line, I have to remind myself that everyone out here made a conscious choice to do this.
As I draw level with her, I look over, "Buen Camino," I say softly, and her head pops up.
"Buen Camino," her eyes beam out from beneath her sun hat, her smile matching. This woman has more spark left in her than I had to begin with. She should worry about the rest of us, not us about her.
I cry the moment I pass her. I'm flooded with relief and joy and hope. I'm crying now, writing about her. Some people just beam light.
There's a bicyclist standing in the path, observing his surroundings. He's bigger than most the pilgrims you see out here. He has a flag on the back of his bike with a snail on it.
"Is the snail supposed to be you?" I joke with him as I pass.
"Yup, cause I'm really slow," he smiles.
"But you're on a bike!"
"You'll see."
I doubt I'll see him again. How can I compete with two wheels?
Yet, sure enough...an hour later...there he is. Standing in the path.
I see him a few times throughout the day, and it amazes me each time, that I can keep up with this bike. But when I think about it, this man also makes me cry for the beauty and resilience of humans.
I can surpass him on foot without straining myself...that's a lot of long breaks he's taking on his bike. This challenge must be really tough for him. But he's doing it. He's taking his time, and he's going at his own pace, and he's doing the damn thing. Plus he has a sense of humor about it, which is just the cherry on top.
People. Are. Amazing.
After letting my phone die on day one, I don't attempt to charge it again until Santiago. When I finally turn it on, worried texts from my mom come flooding in. I guess I assumed no one would notice if I wasn't responding because I've never been good at it anyway. Sorry, mom.
"I scared my mom because I wasn't replying," I tell Jorge as we all settle in for dinner.
"Ah, there's no need to worry," he responds. "If you have a problem, you have over 20 people here ready to help you fix it."
I certainly did not come here looking for new friends...but I found them anyway.
Day 5; To Nowhere. Take a Freaking Break.
We decide as a pack to stay two nights in Santiago. We want to celebrate our arrival without worrying about what time we need to rise in the morning and set out. Let's have some drinks. Let's unwind.
I find my body to be more exhausted on my day of rest than it has been on any of our days walking, and my heart matches.
For many of our group, Santiago was the goal, and therefore the last stop. Though I have known these people for only a few days, I feel sadness settling on my heart. The overwhelming excitement and emotions of arrival, mixed with having to say goodbye to so many beautiful faces takes it's toll on me, and though I still thoroughly enjoy Santiago, I feel the weight of loss throughout the day.
I want to get back to walking.
This place is beautiful. The community on the Camino lovely and open and accepting. But it's because we are all here for the same purpose, so we are already connected in a deep way. The challenge is to take this open and accepting attitude back home inside each of us and extend it. To create communities where there were none. To show always the kindness which we so appreciate on the trail. Because we're walking our own Way, always.
"The Camino begins when the Camino ends."
 |
| Km countdown, morning of day 2. |
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| Morning of day 3. |
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| Morning of day 4 <3 |
<3 I love you...and ps. Your mother was scared, because your mother has done this....it was one of the most amazing, and hardest, experiences of my life....so much love....y buen Camino :)
ReplyDeleteI know why you were scared! Sorry! haha I love you too
Delete😎
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