Day 28 on the Camino Way

Let it Pour

We have been wanting at least one rainy day on the Camino. And we know that the locals are crying out for rain, so it was a good morning. As is our custom, we were out the door at 6:30. But it was raining hard and it was pitch dark so we decided to wait for light. First of all we did not know what the trail would be like. We only knew that at the onset there would be a good bit of steep climbs and equally deep declines. A few days ago we encountered declines that were very treacherous and Sally does not have good soles on her boots so we decided to wait.

We promised our children that we would do nothing foolish to put ourselves at risk of injury. We had a couple cups of coffee and then light came and we took off.

Join the Crowd

That’s us, of course, but look over my left shoulder and you’ll see a large group of pilgrims leaving at the same time. The trail was as packed as we’ve experienced it and it was fun. Around a mile in, we came across about fifteen people crowded around a little clearing. And, we knew most of them.

Here’s Gabby and Juan. We walked with them during our time in the Meseta—the tedious flat land. He’s a border patrol officer and she’s a crossfit trainer. Someone offered to take a picture of the four of us, but the photo didn’t turn out. Here’s what’s interesting to me about that picture-the blurry one. Some guy we did not know simply jumped into the picture with us. It was not an intrusion, actually. It was just what happens out here.

Is There a Point Here?

Actually, I think maybe there is a point to be made in all of this camaraderie. As one of you pointed out, human beings are by nature social creatures. We need to be in some kind of connected state with other humans. Even though every one of us on this walk knows that we will likely never see each other again, we hug and laugh and act as if we’ve know each other forever. I’m enamored watching these connections happen.

Hardly anyone is allowed to eat alone. ”Join us,” is a familiar invite in the eating areas. “Walk with us,” is another. Today we stopped in a coffee bar for coffee and to warm up. There was a long line at the counter. The place was packed. Sally got in behind a Spanish woman. The woman, around 70ish maybe, had to go to the bathroom. She motioned as much to Sally and then pointed to her spot on the floor indicating that she wanted Sally to hold her spot. Which Sally did.

No biggie, right? Right. Now she’s back, it’s her turn, and she orders a Coke Zero—everyone seems to be drinking Coke Zero. It’s crazy popular on the trail. Sally get’s our coffee. Ten minutes go by and the Spanish woman is over by us offering us nuts from a little bag she is carrying. We finally learn through someone with better Spanish than mine that it is her birthday and she’s all alone. We sing, of course. In English, of course. Most of the folks in that crowded cafe join in, of course. No big deal, I know, of course. Except it was to her and to us and to everyone else in that place.

Why? Because we crave connection, that’s the only why I can figure.

And Just Now It Happened

I’m am sitting in a lounge area in our hotel writing this piece. There is this gentleman who has been wandering around, in and out of rooms, sitting, then standing and walking around. Finally, he sits next to a young woman and in accented English, saids, ”I’m finishing what I started. I’m going to do it!” And then the young woman responds and now they are chatting and laughing. And I stop writing this and enter in and now Sally and the young woman are exchanging names. She is Danish, Camila. He is Swedish, Gunther.

She has blisters, bad ones. I have toe covers and hiker’s wool. Gunther has a scissors. ”No, no, you are giving me too much. I don’t need this many.”

“You will hear someone say they have blisters,” I tell her. ”And you can help that person.”

“Yes,” says Gunther. ”Blessed to be a blessing.” Who knew? Right?

See? It’s connection. We all need it, crave it, and deserve it. Camila and Gunther are going to meet at breakfast and walk together. He is exactly my age, 74. She is 23. We’d join them but they are on a different route—there are many Camino trails.

I fear that there are many out there who are adrift from community right now. Folks are turning away from familiar connecting places, like church. I find that sad, and I’m sad enough to want to do something about it if I can. Josh and I are hoping to start something that is for people like that, people who are adrift, looking for connections, safe places. ll let you know what and when.

The Big Puzzle

Bad selfie, I know. But it reflects the fact that this is not our favorite day. However, we wanted a day like today because there is a big picture with this journey. And, like a puzzle, you like some pieces better than others. But, when you have the whole puzzle put together then all the pieces are equally important. So the rain, the horse manure, the vistas, the sunrises, the interesting people, the flat land, the brutal climbs and declines, the friends who loved on us, the strangers who befriended us, the locals who continually pointed out the Way, Sally’s fall and even the frickin flies are all a part of the puzzle—the story.

Like your life, right? And mine? Little pieces. Some good, some great, some bad, some even worse, all important in the big picture, the puzzle that makes life interesting, scary, and ultimately worth the journey.

As someone shouted to us this morning—“Happy Trail.” And, well, it wasn’t all happy, but it was a part of the whole picture of Sally and Marlin’s Camino Walk. Make sure you check out the image behind Sally. It’s pretty cool.

Buen Camino!