You will walk with me.: Villafranca del Bierzo

9:30pm

Hotel San Francisco

I meant it when I said I liked the Meseta. Even though it was hot and mentally challenging. It had its own beauty, and I so appreciate the struggles, for the strength I was able to find in myself.

But this... this last phase we’re heading into is ROCKING MY WORLD. The green rolling hills and vineyards and mountains and vistas! I can’t get enough. And we pass through beautiful town after beautiful town, nestled right in the middle of it all.

• “you do you, baby” •

Our second breakfast stop of the day provided one of the more serendipitous moments of the trip so far. We walked up to the outside tables to find two women who turned out to be from Oregon and Idaho! An aunt and niece duo. As I started chatting with Amy, the niece, she asked if my dad and I are both teachers since we’re able to take such a long amount of time off. I said my usual line, “Actually I just started a job at a children’s hospital, but I’m on a supplemental contract and they’re amazing and honored my time off.” Amy works as a Montessori teacher in New York. After we talked for a bit about the wonders of Montessori, Amy said, “You mentioned you work at a children’s hospital. I was recently researching some more non-traditional roles working with children and saw a job posted for a Children’s Life Services Coach, or something like that. It sounded really interesting.” I said, “Could it have been a Child Life Specialist?” Amy: “Yeah, that’s it! I want to look into it.” Me: “That’s what I do!”

I couldn’t believe it. It’s rare for someone to even know what a child life specialist is (and I mean... I guess she kind of didn’t... but we’re on the right track). Let alone meeting a woman from Idaho, who wants to become one, in the middle of Spain. We talked about the certification requirements and I gave her my information in case she has any questions. WHAT?? Amazing.

Another funny thing happened at this cafe: While ordering coffee, a couple from Kansas joined me at the counter and we chatted about the trip so far. The woman said something about how they started their trip in Leon, and asked where we started. When I said St. Jean, she turned to her partner and said, “Oh, I don’t think I know where that is.” To which he replied, “Oh, it’s just a little before where we started.”

... uhhhhh ... that “little before” took us TWENTY FOUR DAYS to walk. HA! Each person’s Camino is his or her own, and I’m the very last person to judge another for their route or distance or choices. But I had to stifle audible laughter when the first 2/3 of our trip was reduced to “a little before us.” It doesn’t matter, and it wasn’t malicious, it just completely boggled me. I know I’ll have to check myself a few times a day now that more and more pilgrims will join the Camino in the next few days, in order to walk the last 100km so they can obtain their official Compostela. It’s a remarkable feat no matter what! But this blog is about being real, and after over a month of walking, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still blow my mind to think that some people are just starting. It feels like we’ve been here for years.

One town in particular that just completely captivated me today was Cacabelos. From the moment we entered, I was obsessed with the flags in the streets and every little store front and the beautiful colors at every turn.

We had a delicious bocadillo lunch on a patio, meeting new pilgrims as they walked by. On the way out of town, we ended up walking next to a young woman wearing double knee braces, carrying a ukulele, who turned and gave us a bright “Buen Camino!” We chatted casually for a few kilometers out of town, asking the basic questions you ask. Her name is Eva, she’s 22, she’s studying to be a music and art teacher, and she is from the Czech Republic. She asked why we are doing the Camino, and I told the story of my parents doing their Camino and jumping at the chance to come back with my dad. We asked her the same question, and she replied, “Well, it’s kind of a long story. But I love the writer Paolo Coehlo, and he wrote a book called The Pilgrimage. I love this book. And then something happened... and now I’m here.” Of course I was curious about what that “something” was. But everyone’s Camino story is so deeply personal. People share when their ready to share. And so, we kept walking. She would get ahead of us, we would get ahead of her (barely... for brief moments before she caught up and passed). But I noticed each time she was ahead, she would periodically look back and never let the distance get too great. At first I was anxious about it, worrying that she thought she had to wait for us. But then I realized, you know what? This is one of those burdens I don’t have to take on. She is an adult, she’s making this choice, and maybe she’s a little lonely today and wants to know someone’s close. I get that. She started the day in El Acebo and was walking to Villafranca as well, making her day the same distance as the last TWO days for us. Holy superhero. This girl’s amazing.

After taking a little break on a bench together before the final 5km, Eva walked with us the rest of the way into town.

She’s such a sweet soul. We chatted and laughed our way along the next few kilometers, talking about life and school and family and how people always think she and I are younger than we actually are. It was lovely. And then, in a moment of silence, Eva said something that made the world stop for a moment.

“I was going to do this Camino with my dad.

But he died.

So now, I am doing it. Just me.”

It’s hard to know what to say in these moments, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the presence of grief, it’s that there’s nothing more powerful than being willing to lean in and show up. “Wow, Eva. I’m so sorry to hear that. How incredible that you came. You’re here.” My dad added, “And you know, I think he could be walking with you.” Eva replied, “Yes, I think so.” I said, “I think so too.”

We asked how long he’d been gone. One year.

Grief is never completely erased, but she’s still very much in it. In the thick of it. And here she is. Such strength. She continued, “If I didn’t have a reason to do this, I might say ‘Well, I tried. This is too hard.’ But I need to do this. I have to do this.”

I turned my head away, not able to hide my tears. Here we are. Walking together, the three of us. Eva joining me and my dad. As we laugh and talk and so genuinely enjoy each other’s company. I think back to moments earlier in the day when I jokingly rolled my eyes at one of my dad’s classic “Whose idea was this anyway?” or “Wanna call a taxi?” dad joke moments. Eva had giggled like she really enjoyed being part of these moments.

She can’t roll her eyes at her dad’s jokes anymore.

She can’t hug him when she wants to, or call him to ask a question about the moon, like I do.

I think I generally recognize how lucky I am to have my parents with me, but it’s easy to take for granted.

We rounded the last corner into town and Eva found the albergue she was going to check into for the night.

She stopped, we stopped.

She said, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, or along the way. I’m very happy I met you two. Really... thank you.”

I asked her what her dad’s name is.

It’s Yury. I told her I will think of him.

And I will.

And then, when she was out of sight and ear shot, I dissolved into those “it’s just not fair” tears. The kind of tears I couldn’t walk through. My dad stopped next to me, put his arm around my shoulders, and squeezed. “Oh, I know honey. I feel really lucky to be here with you.”

We are so lucky.

Lucky to have each other.

Lucky to be here.

Lucky to have shared the most delicious veggie burger dinner, complete with sangria and ice cream.