Eirexe

10:30pm

Pensión Airexe

Today couldn’t have started any lovelier. We woke up early, made our way downstairs for breakfast, and had more lovely conversations with Carol and Lorenzo. When it came time to pay for our stay (Carol had suggested last night that we just pay for everything on the way out... the room, the dinner, the drinks, breakfast), they WOULDN’T LET US PAY. Insisted. I was moved nearly to tears. Speechless. I said, “Wow, no way. That’s way too kind.” And Carol persisted, “It was our pleasure to have you here.” When I replied that the pleasure was ours, and they made us feel like family, she said, “See? Of course you won’t pay. We do that for our friends.” We were just dumbfounded. And so, so touched. Lorenzo even insisted we take a shot for the road (when in Rome!). And with double cheek-kisses all around, we were off. 

We didn’t make it very far down the path before I noticed something that made my stomach turn. As I’ve mentioned mostly jokingly, it’s hard not to be envious of the fresh legs and outlooks of the people who just started their Camino journeys in Sarria. I can be honest about that. But it makes me SICK to think that fellow pilgrims who started in St. Jean would EVER belittle or diminish that experience. These people took time out of their lives to walk over 100km! They could have set up camp on a beach somewhere, or stayed on their couches! And both are perfectly respectable ways to spend a vacation. We are all pilgrims. And I don’t know how you can come this far and not see that. But I saw this scribbled on a trail marker, and wished desperately I could remove it. What a horrible welcome we are showing our fellow pilgrims. Shame on you, whoever you are. I hope and pray you find whatever it is you’re looking for which you clearly haven’t yet found.

Foul. Vile. Not welcome here.

Annnnyway, that’s enough air time for those dumb-dumbs. Back to the trail. After that somewhat discouraging and nauseating discovery, I was also discovering that it was yet another very sleepy day for me. I think the finish line in sight has set my body into “are we there yet?” mode. And I’m desperately trying to fight it. One thing I’ve noticed (which I hope will serve me well even beyond the Camino) is that even when I’m at my very lowest while walking, all I have to do is a quick survey of how my body actually feels, and I discover that I’m really alright. My feet hurt, sure. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. My legs are tired, sure. But they’re still moving. So much of this game is mental. The real trials come when I focus on how badly I wish I was somewhere else. And where does that get me? I am here. Where I am. 

No matter where you go, there you are. 

Wishing it away won’t work, but walking it away will. So we press on. And it helps to remember that.

About halfway through our day, we stopped for a decently long break. We met a mother-daughter duo from England and got to chatting with them for a bit. They started yesterday in Sarria, and will walk to Finisterre. A city right on the coast, beyond Santiago. Many pilgrims choose to press on to Finisterre. We told them we started in St. Jean, and mentioned that we will go to Finisterre, but definitely by bus. The daughter, my age, replied, “Oh yeah, that’s very American isn’t it? Go by bus. You Americans use planes like buses, so that sounds about right.” 

... uhhhhhhhh ... 

Is that a very American thing to do, or is that a very “I-just-walked-500-miles-and-that’s-enough-thank-you-very-much” thing to do? All I could think to say was, “Well we do kind of need planes to get across our country, unless we have a really long time to get there.” I was very off-put by this right away. Especially on a hot and exhausted day. No thank you. 

They left, we exchanged pleasantries, and that was that. And we pressed on. Well. The Camino works in mysterious ways, and a few kilometers later, after we had passed them while they adjusted their packs, there they were again. The daughter caught up to us at the top of a hill where we were taking a breather and enjoying the view, and asked if we could walk together because her mom was having a really hard time. Of course, we said. Absolutely. This just isn’t a request you ignore. 

As we started walking, she and I got out ahead while her mom and my dad fell behind. My dad was intentionally keeping her company, and the daughter and I were walking about the same pace. I quickly realized that I would be doing a lot of listening. I am pretty decent at that, definitely. But again, sometimes these conversations in which I have no place or contribution make me feel like a hostage. I tried to connect about Harry Potter. I mean, she said she’s a major bookworm and she’s from London... done deal. This is where we connect. When she replied, “Oh, I could never get into the books, but I love the movies” ... game over. We got nothin. But we kept walking. I wasn’t in a social mood AT ALL, and this should have been a nightmare. But then... it wasn’t. I felt an overwhelming sense of calm and peace wash over me. She needs this right now. I knew she did. And the peace and patience I felt was not of my own creation. It felt miraculous. 

We walked on, and she shared with me that she had wanted to become a Carmelite nun, and through a series of heartbreaking revelations it became clear that it wasn’t a good fit. She had to reevaluate her entire life’s plan. And she was walking the Camino as a way to process this change. When I tell you that I heard her entire life story... I mean I heard her entire. life. story. Top to bottom, it felt like. We walked and (she) talked, and before too long came to a bar for a drink. In our conversation, she mentioned she read a really meaningful book which had a huge impact on her Camino journey. She described, “Actually, it’s by an American priest. It’s called something like Field of Stars.”

Oh. That book. THAT BOOK??? You mean the one written by the parish priest at my PARENTS’ CHURCH in Spokane? Yep. That book. That very one. 

Again... I’m losing my faith in coincidence.

We pressed on once again, each albergue we passed imagining that they would stop. The mom was still struggling a bit, but she continued to move forward until we got to the place where we had a reservation. They had two more beds available in their bunk room, and they took them. They thanked us profusely for walking with them, claiming they wouldn’t have made it without or company.

Could we have made it here faster on our own? Yes. 

But we were tired. And we were weary. And I was working with very little fuel in my mental tank by lunch time. I didn’t want to talk to them, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and yet there they were. There we were. Walking with them made the afternoon fly by, and therefore got me through. Help can meet you in the least likely of places. They needed the company, and come to think of it, so did we. 

Sometimes you’re the helper, sometimes you’re the helpee. And the Camino always provides.