“Oh no, Patrick, suddenly I don’t feel well.”
He could see it in my eyes and said, “Maybe you are getting what is going around.”
“I might be,” I said. “Where are the Hungarian basketball players who helped you?”
“I haven’t seen them since this morning,” he answered. “Here. Let me carry your bag for you.”
“Aw, Patrick, I just put that big rock into it. It’ll be too heavy. You have your own to carry.”
“No, it won’t, Sonia. Let me carry it.”
Because the Camino funk had hit me like a ton of bricks, I was actually grateful to hand off my bag. I suddenly felt weak and was getting chills. Before I gave him my bag, I pulled out all the layers of clothing I had shed this morning and put them back on.
“Thank you so much, Patrick. I am so grateful for the help.”
I was going down fast. It was weird. I was relieved Patrick was there to help keep me moving.
“How much farther do we have to go?”
He said he had just seen a marker a few minutes back that said four kilometers.
The rest of the walk was a blur. We chatted a little, but it was hard to concentrate because of my headache. I felt badly that I wasn’t better company for him.
Patrick was so kind and told me not to worry about it. Eventually we made it to Carrión and he said he needed to find a pilgrims’ albergue in which to stay. I told him the name of my hostel and he said he would meet me there for dinner at 8. I took Pilgrim from him and gave him a hug as he set off to find a pilgrims’ albergue.
I wandered farther into town. It was the most charming town I had seen since Santo Domingo. The streets wound around and it looked inviting to explore, so I was especially disappointed that I felt so lousy all of a sudden.
It was siesta time, and that meant stores were closed from noon to 4 P.M. It was almost four, so I walked slowly because I wanted to go to a pharmacy and get some lozenges for the sore throat I felt coming on. As I walked, I ran into Charles and Lawrence from a few days back and found out they were staying at the same hostel I was, which they informed me was a fantastic refurbished monastery. Charles loved it; Lawrence said it felt a bit heavy.
They had arrived two hours earlier and were now on the way back to town to look around. I had to walk another two kilometers to get there.
Once I arrived at the hostel I was charmed. It was a regal monastery, surrounded by gorgeous gardens. The guest rooms were old monks’ quarters refurbished to elegant standards. The walls were paneled in thick dark wood, polished to a high shine, with marbled floors, and carved windows covered in heavy velvet curtains, which fell all the way to the floor. I was really relieved to be welcomed into such a grounding place, given that I felt so ill.
Dinner was at 8 and it was only 4:15. Great. I could lie down until then. Patrick had promised he would be there tonight and we would eat together. I wondered if he would actually walk the extra way or just stay in town.
By now I was certain I had a fever, so I took some more ibuprofen and hoped my headache and chills would go away. I was so congested I could barely breathe and it became worse when I lay down. So I took my nap sitting upright in my bed. It sort of worked.
I woke up at 8:15 and hobbled down to see if Camino Patrick was waiting for me. He was nowhere in sight.
Disappointed, I walked to the restaurant alone, but then saw Charles and Lawrence sitting in the corner at a table. I was seated at a small table right next to theirs, and the three of us had a wonderful conversation over dinner, in spite of that fact that I felt worse than ever.
Charles offered me a decongestant because I told him I couldn’t breathe. Desperate for relief, I took it. Given I’d had a few glasses of wine, it all but knocked me out right there at the table. I had a long walk back to my room, as the monastery was very big and it wasn’t easy to find my way around. As I wandered the halls I felt I was walking with the ghosts of monks passed. The monastery was dimly lit and had many side doors and strange hallways and corridors.
After a time, I found my door. I was a mess and needed to go to sleep, which I promptly did.
Day 17
(17 km; 11 mi)
Carrión to Calzadilla de la Cueza
I woke up with a chest cold and a strong cough, and felt like I had a fever. I had gone from burning up to freezing cold all night long, and every muscle in my body was now stiff and sore, both from walking and now from this new state of affairs. I felt sorry for myself and didn’t want to get up because I was so miserable, but I could feel Gumby staring me down in the dark, and I knew he didn’t want to hear my excuses.
“You don’t even have muscles, Gumby, so don’t give me that look,” I snapped at him as I threw my sleeping bag off of me, and let out a loud groan. The doors in this hostel/monastery were so thick I was pretty sure no one heard me.
“I’m up!” I screamed in defiance to no one as I shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the light. I had no idea what time it was because my room had wooden shutters on the windows, so it was pitch-black. I turned on the shower and looked at my watch. It was 7:30.
I stepped into the shower and let the water run over my head and shoulders for a long time, hoping it would ease the congestion in my lungs and quiet my cough. It didn’t.
Next, I shuffled over to the window and opened the shutters, wondering if I were doomed to shuffle for the rest of my life, given how much pain my feet were in. Once the shutters were open, I was surprised to be greeted with the most beautiful, sunny day outside. I knew the day ahead was shorter than usual, as I only had to walk 17 kilometers to my next destination, which by Camino standards was not much more than a short stroll.
“I can do this,” I said aloud to myself, rising to the occasion. Continuing to think aloud I said, “I hope the breakfast here is decent. I need strong fresh coffee if I’m going to make it today.” Gumby seemed to offer a wink of approval as I finished getting dressed and packed up Cheater. “I don’t need your approval,” I snapped back at him, stuffing him into my pocket as I did. “You are only going along for the ride. I’m the one doing all the work here, so keep your opinions to yourself.”
I checked to see if I had my small purse around my neck, with my pilgrim’s passport handy so I could get it stamped downstairs. I had almost forgotten to get a stamp two times along the way so far, so I decided to keep my little purse out of Pilgrim and visible so I wouldn’t risk forgetting my stamps in the future.
I wasn’t quite ready to bother taking all my stuff downstairs just yet, so I decided to eat breakfast first, and then come back later for my things. Perhaps then I would feel better and have more energy.
I found my way to the dining room and was welcomed by a fairly decent breakfast buffet, which made me happy. Then I noticed that the coffee was in thermoses and was not freshly brewed with steamed milk the way I wanted, so I found the waiter and asked him if he would do that for me.
He could tell I wasn’t feeling well (and I admit I played it up a bit for persuasion), so he took mercy on me and set off to make it happen. I was not inspired to eat as much as I first thought I was, because when it actually came time to put things on my plate, none of it looked as good as it had only a moment ago.
I picked up a small bowl, filled it with plain yogurt, and added some cornflakes to it from a plastic container, then filled a tiny glass with fresh orange juice. Then I sat down. Charles and Lawrence wandered into the dining room just then and greeted me. They were in tip-top shape, probably due to the fact that they had only been walking for a few days and missed most of the rain that had been following me for the past few weeks.
Charles saw how little I was eating and told me I had better load up on food before I left, as his guidebook warned that there were few, if any, stops along the way to get a snack or a coffee before arriving at our destination. I took his advice and forced myself to eat a large piece of toast with butter and jam, and washed it down with my now second cup of delicious, steaming, ho
t, fresh café con leche.
“I have PowerBars,” I assured them, appreciating their concern for me. “I’ll throw a few in my pocket just in case I run out of gas.”
I finished my breakfast and wished them a “Buen Camino,” as they said they were not leaving for another hour or so. They wanted to take their time this morning, as this was their last day before they had to go back home, and they wanted to savor every minute.
I went back to my room, got my things together, and headed for the prized elevator down to the lobby. When I arrived I was handed a letter addressed to me. It was from Camino Patrick. Apparently he had come to the hotel last night to have dinner with me, but when he didn’t see me in the lobby, he figured I was sleeping. He didn’t want the receptionist to ring my room and disturb me because he knew I felt so lousy, so he waited for a few minutes and then went back to town.
Rats, I thought, feeling badly that he had walked all this way and we did not have dinner together. I wondered if I would see him today. I couldn’t remember how far he was walking, but I did know that he usually left very early in the morning so he would get to the next town in time to find a pilgrims’ albergue with open beds. That meant it was unlikely I would run into him.
I handed over Cheater to the receptionist to be picked up by the transport company and had my passport stamped. Then I stuffed it back into my little purse. Next I slung Pilgrim over my shoulder and headed outside. As I stepped out, I noticed a huge tour bus with dozens of hotel guests getting on board.
“I wonder where they are going?” I asked myself, hearing them speak German. “We are pretty much in the middle of nowhere.”
They were happy and seemed to be having a wonderful time and many wished me a “Buen Camino” as I walked past them in search of the next yellow Camino arrow.
It was warm outside for a change and the birds were singing like crazy as I found my way onto the path. The sunshine felt good on my face as I moved slowly along. I was so grateful for the poles that Camino Patrick let me have, especially on a day like today when I felt like crap. They kept pulling me forward even though my body was dragging.
Holy Mother God,
Please give me the energy to keep moving.
Thank you, and amen.
The path was very flat and lined with few trees as it followed the ancient Roman road to a town ahead called Astorga. I was grateful that the terrain didn’t physically challenge me, as I had so little energy.
The Camino was desolate today. I walked for hours and didn’t see a single other person. It was so quiet I even began to worry that I might have taken a wrong turn, although there were enough yellow arrows and Camino shells to assure me that I wasn’t lost.
Maybe it was because I was feeling so sick today, but I suddenly no longer had any desire to continue being as hard on myself. I knew in my heart that I had been trying my best to be a loving, kind, generous person for as long as I could remember, and whatever negative karma I had carried into this life with me now felt over. In its place I felt a genuine tenderness for my spirit that I had never, ever felt before.
I knew this feeling had to do with the closure I experienced at the Templar cathedral yesterday. In my heart I felt something dreadfully old and heavy and filled with shame had just lifted from the core of my being. Underneath it lay an entire matrix of deep-seated and well-hidden insecurities that had controlled so much of my life.
I had never openly admitted to myself, or to anyone else for that matter, that I was insecure. Well, not as insecure as I really was. Instead, I threw myself into self-improvement, self-development, and hard work in order to stay one step ahead of these insecurities before they took over.
I could see how my efforts drove me to try to be my best at all times, but I was also acutely aware of just how much shame I had carried in my being and tried my hardest to hide. Now I realized that I had always felt that there was something inherently wrong with me for as far back as I could remember, and that whatever it was, as hard as I tried, I could never really rid myself of it.
It was not rooted in what I did or didn’t do, or how I performed or didn’t perform. It didn’t have to do with how I looked or where I was from, or anything that I could put my finger on. It was much deeper than that. It wasn’t a feeling that I could trace back to my childhood. I felt I was born with it. It was part of my soul’s blueprint. And it was a feeling I came here to erase, not only in myself, but in as many other people as I possibly could touch, as well.
This insecurity and shame was tinged with some sort of guilt and remorse, and was something I felt I could only ease if I devoted my life to the service and healing of others. I weirdly knew this from the earliest age, not only wanting to help my mother and family, but also anyone else who came into my path. Moved more by instinct than by conscious thought, I spent hours and hours at the local library learning about spiritual things beginning when I was ten years old. These were not related to the Catholic teachings I was introduced to at school, but rather metaphysical lessons not taught or even allowed at school.
Reading books on metaphysics became my passion, and I spent more time at the library than any other place. I went there both for the peace and solitude it offered me, as well as for the rich discoveries I happened upon, almost certainly guided by higher forces the entire time.
As I walked I actually marveled at how clear about my path I was at such an early age and how much responsibility I took on in being an intuitive guide for others when I was only a kid myself.
As I walked I felt a certain pressure in my heart begin to ease. The compassion for myself was growing. I only wished that the guidance I shared with others could have spared me some of the heartache I had experienced myself. I had somehow erroneously thought that if I was clear enough for them, I could somehow bypass some of the soul lessons I was here to learn for myself.
Then again, maybe I had bypassed some of them. Maybe I could have suffered a whole lot more than I had. In so many ways my life was miraculously wonderful. I loved and treasured my daughters and felt they were the best gift of my life. I also felt certain I was on a true path of service in my work. And even in the midst of these challenges, there was a great deal of love in my heart for everything and everyone I was struggling with, even Patrick.
If anything, it was because I had grown as much as I had through my mystical studies that I now had the strength and courage to ask every aspect of my life to move into harmony with my spirit, no matter how messy it was. I wasn’t afraid to ask for what I wanted and needed at the deepest level anymore. I was now willing to let go of everything I was attached to—even my marriage and family, my reputation, my home, my comfort—to live in the highest degree of integrity with my spirit as possible.
I felt I was at a point where I could face all the shadows and dark crevices of my soul with courage. I knew in my heart that I needed to forgive, release, and love even more, and mostly myself.
I blinked and came back to the moment and the hot sun.
I had a fever, so I had to rest. Thank goodness Charles told me to take extra PowerBars and water, as it was true, there was no place to stop and get any sort of refreshment. There wasn’t even a place to sit along the path. As I rested on the ground eating my bar, I wondered how many remained after today. My supply was dwindling fast, and I was only halfway to Santiago.
I took my sun hat out and put it on my head. The bright sun was now beating down, and the last thing I needed was to get sunburned. I took out my sunblock and slathered it on my face, arms, and hands. Then I stood up and got going once again.
I was walking very slowly today, almost as though moving through molasses. Even though it was only 17 kilometers to the town where I was staying the night, it seemed as though it would take me all day to get there.
Just then I heard voices behind me and noticed the bus I had seen at the hotel this morning had just stopped and was now unloading the entire bunch of German tourists onto the path. At first I didn’t understand what wa
s happening, but soon figured out that they were only walking part of the way to get the Camino experience without having to take on the big Camino effort.
Seeing this made me laugh. I don’t feel so bad sending my bag ahead now, I thought as I watched the jovial crowd descend in pairs off the bus and start strolling along. At least I am actually walking the full distance and not just taking in bits and pieces of it.
Just then I stopped myself from judging them. Some people would think I was just as bad as these people because I was not carrying my own backpack from town to town or staying at the local pilgrims’ albergues. Just remember, Sonia, to each their own Camino.
Who knows? Maybe they’ve done the Camino many times before, and this time they’re just coming back for the highlights.
It’s funny how fast the mind compares and judges, just so it can feel superior. Why do I care that these people are having the tour bus Camino experience? I don’t even know who these people are. If I were honest, in fact, I actually wished I could have approached the bus driver and asked for a ride today. It was too late. The crowd was slowly moving down the path with me and the bus was long gone.
I didn’t know quite how to navigate this flash-mob scene I suddenly found myself in. I felt like the sausage in the middle of a German sandwich. There were about 20 Germans in front of me, 6 or 7 to each side of me, and about 20 behind me. I felt as though I had just wandered into someone else’s movie and didn’t belong there.
I had no choice but to speed up if I didn’t want to remain firmly entrenched in the German experience. I didn’t know if I had the energy in me to move fast today, but somehow I did. In ten minutes flat they were a good distance behind me, and I was back to my solitude.
Whew! That was weird, I thought. I was so grateful to get back to my silent, uninterrupted, no-talking, no-sounds-besides-nature Camino. While my heart was pounding from the effort, it was also pounding with relief. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to be immersed in the stream of other people’s energy. That was so clear to me that I had to laugh at how the Camino orchestrated this bizarre interlude just to remind me how important quiet time in nature was to me, lest I forget. I treasured and needed it. I couldn’t surrender this to anyone or anything.
Walking Home: A Pilgrimage from Humbled to Healed Page 22
