After about an hour, I encountered a Brazilian man of around 25 years old named Paolo, who could barely walk his feet hurt so badly. He stopped and showed me why. He had so many blisters on his feet they looked like shredded wheat. I offered him some of the many Band-Aids I still had, and he grabbed them all. He covered his feet with them and then decided he would walk in his socks, as his shoes didn’t fit with all the bandages covering them.
I wished him a “Buen Camino” and carried on.
Eventually I freed myself of the urban sprawl that was modern Ponferrada and headed back into more pastoral territory. This part of the Camino is known as Galicia and was once populated by ancients Celts, so the music playing in little cafés and shops along the way was filled with bagpipes. I hadn’t expected that, but it was delightful.
There was a big winery just off the path at one point, and I stopped to grab a snack. Inside I found many pilgrims having a very drunken good time, which they heartily invited me to join. Since it was only 11 in the morning, I took a pass. I knew if I started drinking now I wouldn’t make it the rest of the way.
While the walk was not as long as it was the day before, because I was so spent from yesterday’s experience, it seemed as though I would never arrive. I could barely trudge along for the last ten kilometers.
“Please end!” I screamed in my dramatic fashion to the Camino, as it kept going and going and going. “I’m tired of walking today. Let it end!”
So much for bliss, I thought. While I was free of my past, the present was getting on my nerves big-time.
It was just plain fatigue. I had walked an average of 29 kilometers (18 miles) for the past 25 days in a row, and it was just too much today. I guess what goes up must come down, I thought as my irritation flared. It was not realistic or possible to expect that I could drift on a cloud indefinitely. In my heart I was still light, still peaceful, still feeling free. My body—especially my feet and now knees—on the other hand, was miserably aching, and I was tired of pushing myself. I had not taken a day off since I started and today I felt it.
Still, I kept walking. What else was there to do? To waste energy fighting the path was silly. I knew that much by now. I prayed instead.
Holy Mother-Father God,
I’m tired. If you have a few angels to spare and can give me some wind under my wings, I would very much appreciate it.
Thank you, and amen.
No wind came. I kept going.
Finally, finally I wandered into Villafranca del Bierzo. It was charming, filled with little cafés and restaurants all situated along the lovely plaza running the length of the town. I sat down and promptly ordered a large, cold beer. I had arrived.
I took my time drinking it before I set out to find my hostel, but had no luck. I traversed the town three times before I decided to stop and ask for directions. Good thing I did because it was located down some hidden steps at the end of the plaza, something I would never have found on my own.
The hostel was in a medieval stone building, so it was cool and dark inside, a very pleasant relief from the bright sun I had walked under all day. I rang the bell and waited for five minutes. I could hear someone talking, but he didn’t come out. I was impatient. Why was he making me wait?
I had not had a bitchy day in a while, and was surprised to see nastiness descending upon me like the flu. I rang the bell again. A minute later, out walked a man from the back.
“Why are you ringing the bell again?” he snapped at me, in perfect English. “I heard you the first time!”
Whoa! He was bitchier than I was.
I took a breath. He was so stern he scared me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t sure you did.”
He was curt and handed me a key without looking me in the eye.
I asked about Cheater, and he said that he was in the back hallway. He led me to retrieve him, and then pointed to the stairs.
“You are on the third floor,” he said dismissively. He started to walk away, then stopped.
“Dinner is at 7 P.M.,” he barked up at me.
“Okay,” I said.
I went back down at 7 P.M., starving.
I must have been the only guest staying there, as there was only one table setting in the entire place. Moments after I sat down, the surly man came out and nearly threw a bowl of soup in front of me, then left.
I was annoyed that he was still not very nice as I took my spoon to taste his fare.
Then—oh my God! The soup was outstanding. I couldn’t believe I was served something so delicious by this troll of a person. I licked the bowl clean.
Moments later he came out again, removed my soup bowl, and slammed down a plate of roasted pork, garden vegetables, and stewed fruits. Again, I was blown away by how delicious it was. I ate every bite, forcing myself to slow down, as I didn’t want to finish too fast. Surly Man was a fantastic chef.
When he brought out dessert, an orange flan with homemade whipped cream, I nearly died.
“Wow! This is so good. Thank you,” I said. He just looked at me and grunted, then left the room.
I ate all my dessert and had two glasses of wine. My dinner was gourmet from beginning to end.
As I sat sipping my wine, I wondered why I was having this experience on the Camino right now.
I had been so high and felt so transcendent yesterday, only to face this paradox of mixed messages sent by a grump today.
I listened for guidance and heard that I was to be happy inside no matter what was going on with others around me.
As an empath, I’ve often been affected—even controlled—by the energies and moods of those around me, having my good mood or happy feeling snatched away by someone else’s bad mood before I could even try to stop it.
What a great lesson—and served with such a delicious meal.
When Grumpy inquired as to whether or not I wanted some coffee, I just smiled and said, “No, thank you, but thank you for a lovely dinner. You are a magician in the kitchen.”
He stopped and looked at me and almost smiled. Then he turned and left.
I decided to get up and do the same, heading for my room, now exhausted.
I looked at Gumby as I was falling asleep.
“Get that, Gumby? It is time to stop allowing others to dictate how I feel.”
He smiled as usual.
Day 27
(28 km; 17 mi)
Villafranca to O Cebreiro
I woke up praying to God to keep my heart open and my ego quiet. Yesterday while walking I kept thinking of ways in which I could further unburden myself. I knew in my heart that it was time to forgive, to let go, to release, and to give up all attachment to and control over everything in my life and turn it over to the Universe and God.
I was still in grief about my marriage ending, but I knew I had to trust that God had plans for me and that I would be okay. It was now time for me to accept what was happening and simply send Patrick love. It was difficult. Yet, I just had to believe that the things I needed—such as healing with my daughters, good friendships, and peace in my heart—would show up. I had to release everything in absolute faith that all would be well.
Physically, I felt surprisingly good. Of course, my feet still hurt like hell, but the rest of me was raring to go. I quickly packed up Cheater and went back down to breakfast. Surly Man was nowhere in sight and in his place was an attractive woman who said she was his wife. She served me a lovely breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and fresh juice and coffee.
I went to my room, brought Cheater down, left him at the front desk, put Gumby under the front strap of Pilgrim, and said, “Okay, Gumby. It’s time to go.”
Holy Mother-Father God,
Please close the door to my past so I never return to that misery.
Amen, and thank you.
The day was gorgeous. The sky was blue, the air was crisp, and flowers were exploding everywhere. I took my time walking, as I knew I had another very steep climb up a mountain today t
o O Cebreiro. The early part of the walk was peaceful, and not too far along the path I ran into the same French people I had seen all the way back in the Pyrenees, complete with their wagon, having a picnic in front of a small church on the outskirts of the village.
I waved to them, and they recognized me. They invited me to sit and join them for a snack. I wasn’t hungry yet, but I sat down anyway. They offered me fresh figs, smoked salami, slices of hard cheese, dried apricots, toasted almonds, pieces of dark chocolate, and slices of fresh bread. It was sublime.
We conversed in French for a while, which was nice because I had rarely spoken on the Camino other than a few sentences, at least until I arrived in a town at the end of the day.
I found out that the French people were not going all the way to Santiago, but rather were quitting in O Cebreiro, and then were headed back to France, as one of their sons was getting married. They decided they would return next spring to finish the Camino. I thought it was a shame, as they had put more than three weeks into the journey so far and had only a week to finish, but they were okay with it.
I sat for a little while, then was called to keep moving. We wished each other a “Buen Camino,” and I got up and left. I started singing my old favorite, “I’m Off to See the Wizard.”
My journey did feel like Dorothy’s journey to Oz. I, too, wanted to come home to me, come home to peace, come home to a place in my heart and spirit that felt safe and grounded and welcomed me with love. I longed to cast aside all the demons that took me away from the blessings life had in store for me, and I especially wanted to face my fears and be done with them.
Only I knew that the fears would keep coming. That just goes along with being human. Fear of the unknown is something all people have and there is nothing we can do about it. But I also knew that it wasn’t fear that was causing me pain. It was hiding my fear and allowing it to control me, rather than simply acknowledging it and then putting it aside as I moved through each day.
I wove my way through a small town, noticing a pilgrim talking in Spanish rather animatedly on a cell phone to someone while he twirled his walking stick like an extra-long baton. He didn’t seem very fearful. He was having fun.
I thought about what I was afraid of. Then I started naming my fears out loud, like the Cowardly Lion on the way to Oz. That led me to singing “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” I picked up my pace as I did this, getting faster and faster until I was almost running, then spontaneously burst into a rousing rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” with a hop and a skip and a twirl of my own walking pole, laughing all the way out of town.
The path slowly started to climb, and with it the air got much colder. There was a lot of mud and rocks and deep grooves in the path, and walking was not easy. Still, it was one foot in front of the other. I had to go slowly but I kept moving.
Eventually I came to a small village, where I noticed a group of horses by the side of the road and several men standing near them, talking to a few pilgrims. As I approached them, one turned to me and asked, “Would you like to ride to the top of the mountain on a horse today?”
I stopped. I knew it was at least an eight- to ten-kilometer climb straight up the mountain, and the idea seemed appealing.
“We need three people to ride and we only have two, so if you join us, we can go,” the Spanish cowboy continued.
It was tempting.
“Come on,” urged one of the women. “I read that it counts as walking.”
“It’s not expensive,” said the man with the horses. “Only 20 euros to the top.”
Looking up at the steep climb ahead, it didn’t sound expensive.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I have only ridden a horse once in my life, and I wasn’t good at it.”
“No problem,” the Spanish cowboy assured me. “I show you how to ride.”
The other two pilgrims looked at me imploringly.
“Please,” said one of them. “I do not want to walk to the top. My feet are so sore today. You can do it. I’ll watch over you. I know how to ride as well.”
I looked at Gumby. He was smiling.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
Two minutes later, I was wearing a helmet and sitting on top of a large gray mare, first in line behind our guide, ready to take off. I looked down at Gumby stuffed in the front of Pilgrim and said, “Ready?”
I did my best to follow instructions, but my butt was slamming up and down on the saddle so hard it rattled my brain and I couldn’t hear what my guide was saying. Oh my gawd! This was far, far worse than walking. What had I gotten myself into? I had lost so much weight since starting out I had absolutely no padding on my rear end to take the bumps, and as much as I tried to get in the rhythm of riding, I was clearly not succeeding. Ow!
The guide didn’t seem to notice.
“So-knee-yahhh! Let’s go. Let’s go,” he kept urging. I’m not sure why he did this, as I was going. Just not as fast as he wanted. The path was so steep and narrow at times that my horse could barely find his footing between the rocks and the mud, and slipped and slid a lot, causing him to lunge and lurch as we made our way up the very steep path.
It was sheer torture to bang up and down on the saddle and I laughed because now I would have a huge pain in the ass as well as two destroyed feet. Why not? I thought. Might as well completely destroy myself before I’m finished.
While it took all my concentration to guide the horse and not fall off as we trotted and half galloped straight up to the clouds, occasionally I was able to peek out over the valley, which was absolutely breathtaking.
I was finally getting the hang of it, and doing okay, cheered on by my more experienced riding partners, when all of a sudden a dog jumped at my horse from out of nowhere and started barking viciously.
Startled, my horse took off like a bat out of hell, with me holding on to the reins for dear life. We were flying at high speed, headed for the hills. I miraculously managed to stay calm. I did not want to have come this far only to be thrown by a horse.
I kept my head about me and gently pulled on the reins while I held the horse with my legs, saying, “Whoa, Nelly!” even though the horse’s name was Guida. She seemed to get the message. After three frightening minutes, she broke into a trot, the two other riders and my guide chasing after us.
“Great job, So-knee-yahh!” they screamed. “You held on!”
I thought the same. And I was done riding. I wanted to get off—now! But I couldn’t. I had to ride for another half hour before our guide pulled over. “This it! The end,” he announced.
Everyone wanted to take pictures with the horses, so we passed our cameras around and took several shots. We laughed and hugged and wished each other a “Buen Camino” and started back on the path toward the summit, which was only another 300 feet.
Just as I entered the town, I looked down and noticed that Gumby was gone.
Oh no! He must have fallen off during the wild ride!
I was so sad I almost started crying. Gumby—my muse. My buddy. The toy I had had since I was a kid, lost somewhere on the Camino. I felt terrible and ridiculous at the same time.
“It’s a toy, Sonia. You can get another one back home,” I reasoned. It was true, I could. But still, it was a loss. I talked to Gumby the entire time I had been walking the Camino. I laughed with Gumby. He watched over me. I shook my head. I did say I wanted to let go of all attachments.
I guess he needed to bail ship and cheer up some other pilgrim now. I knew he would, as he was such a silly-looking toy. Someone would find him, and maybe it would be someone who really needed encouragement. I went into the church at the top of the summit and lit a candle. It was time to have a funeral for a friend.
“So long, Gumby,” I said, praying in gratitude. “You were good company!”
As I left the church I said, “Note to self: When you get home, order another toy Gumby.”
I walked into the small vill
age at the summit. It was charming. I looked at the time. It was barely past noon, which meant it was time for lunch. Now that I was in Galicia, and nearer to the sea, the menu was entirely different from the pork and beans of the last three weeks, and I welcomed that.
I found a café near the hostel and ordered a delicious vegetable stew, grilled octopus, corn bread, and a big glass of wine. I was celebrating that I didn’t get taken out on the trail earlier, as well as having a post-funeral meal for Gumby.
After lunch I poked around at the several gift shops in town. They were filled with Camino and Celtic memorabilia, all of which I loved. I bought the St. James Camino Cross of Forgiveness for both of my daughters, and then at the last minute, I bought one for Patrick, as well, although I wasn’t sure why or even how or when I would present it to him.
Then I wandered over to my hostel and checked in. As I was escorted to my room, I saw Cheater sitting in the hallway, waiting for me. “Hurray, you made it! I hope your journey was less challenging than mine,” I said to him as I picked him up and carried him to my room.
I took a long nap, and then went back outside to look at the surroundings. I was at the top of a beautiful mountain and the valley below was breathtaking. Looking out I saw vast forests, fields of wildflowers, and in the distance, more snowcapped mountains. It was freezing out, and the rain had started up again, but I loved every bit of this foggy, soggy Camino. “Thank you, God! I am so grateful to be here. I surrender more and more. I let it all go. You take over from here. And thank you for keeping me on the horse today.”
I took a few photos and went back to my room and fell asleep. I slept till morning, dreaming all night that I was riding a wild stallion like a champ, across fields of wildflowers and butterflies.
Day 28
(21 km; 13 mi)
O Cebreiro to Triacastela
Today started out with the sun shining brightly, but it was really cold. I was so happy for my pillow and sleeping bag last night, as there was no heat in my room and what they offered for a pillow was more like a thin towel. It didn’t matter. I slept like a rock.
Walking Home: A Pilgrimage from Humbled to Healed Page 29
