After another hour or so, we come upon a thick raspberry patch with a table and small containers full of raspberries next to it. A box with a sign that reads, Frambuesas 1 Euro is sitting on the table next to the containers. A trusting store with no one to make sure you pay! Keeping karma on our side, I pop the money in the box and enjoy the juicy berries as we continue on.
After passing quickly through Triacastela, we soon find ourselves in another thick forest. The trees form a green tunnel over the trail, which blocks out the sun and spotty rain. We have not seen any pilgrims for an hour or so, and by about 3 p.m., we stumble upon an albergue. A simple sign painted in white letters in the dark red wood above the door reads, Albergue el Beso. There is no village here, only this modest gray stone building surrounded by a small patch of farmland carved out of a thick ancient forest. The roof is covered with dark wet slate, which looks like the slick scales of a giant black dragon. An amazing oasis in the middle of the forest. We check in, are led downstairs into a basement that is dark, musty, and damp, and have our choice of bunks as we are the only people here so far.
The relaxing energy is palpable and after a quick shower, nap, and some laundry, we both head outside. I find a giant swing hanging from an 800-year-old tree on a hill above the albergue. Plants grow from branches and emerald green ferns sprout up from every possible surface in the dark rich soil. I am beginning to understand why they call this leg of the Camino the spiritual section. I sit in silence, rocking slowly as the swing sways in the wind. Listening to the forest, I am filled with a reassuring sense of calm, and all stress melts away.
“Are you guys hungry?” a friendly voice pierces the solitude startling me. We are invited into the upstairs portion of the building, which is the owner’s home, for dinner. “Come in, come in,” a woman says, greeting us at the door. “My name is Isabel,” she says. She is holding a rosy-cheeked baby who stares at us with dark brown eyes.
“Nice to meet you! I am Gabriel, and this is Amy,” I say as we take off our shoes and enter the home. There is a large wooden table set for dinner, and their home looks like the scene of some Hollywood romantic comedy. The walls are made of large dark brown stones, the floors unpolished wood and as we enter I glance into the kitchen. There is a wall with large shelves built in. Each shelf is full of Ball jars filled with all kinds of pickled vegetables. There is a large counter in the kitchen that is overflowing with fresh veggies, dirt still clinging to them as they were just plucked from the garden. There is a giant block of Manchego cheese on another counter and garlic hanging from the wall.
“I’m Jacob,” a tall blond man, the cook, extends his hand. “I’m the husband. Please, welcome, dinner is almost ready,” he smiles while motioning us into the main room. He looks like he is Scandinavian and his accent is definitely not Spanish. He has almost perfect English.
In the large open living room, the dinner table is set next to a large window that opens to an amazing view of our lush green natural surroundings. It has started to rain, which adds to the feeling of comfort as the sound of raindrops hitting glass fills the room. Someone has just lit three tall white candles that add a warm glow to the table and walls. Multi colored plates and dark green bottles filled with wine are lined up neatly on the table. Wonderful aromas from the kitchen swirl around the room making my mouth water.
It is one of those nights where the stars align and the conversation, company, and food are all incredible. We are joined by a German woman and another woman from Slovenia named Tezka. Two pilgrims who have just arrived and have decided to stay here for the night. The final dinner guest is a man from England named Art who lives just down the road. We all sit at the table and dig in. The owners, Isabel and Jacob, share an amazing story about meeting on the last day of their Camino de Santiago journey years earlier.
“We met in Finisterre on the beach. That place where many pilgrims go, you know, to burn their clothes and jump into the ocean,” Jacob explains.
“We had our clothes on! We were both staring into the ocean and started to talk,” Isabel finishes his sentence. “I thought he was very handsome but he told me he is from Denmark which made me sad.”
“Where are you from?” Amy asks.
“Spain. From here in Galicia actually,” Isabel replies.
“But it didn’t matter. Our connection was so strong we decided to stay in Finisterre for a few more days before going home. We talked about the Camino and our adventure. What we had learned. How we had changed. And then,” Jacob explains as Isabel jumps in again.
“And then the rest is history! We decided to open an albergue together. We wanted to continue to be a part of the Camino de Santiago everyday. We chose this place because it is a perfect combination of solitude, living off the land and meeting people from all over the world everyday,” she says proudly.
Now they have a growing family. I glance at their new baby who scans the room with curiosity. A Camino baby.
“Did you name him Santiago?” I joke.
“No haha,” Isabel smiles.
“Tezka,” Jacob says turning to the woman from Slovenia and butchering her name. “Why are you walking the Camino de Santiago?”
“Well. I, um. I am trying to heal,” She says. The mood at the table quickly changes as everyone senses a more serious note. “My brother died and my parents have also just died. My entire family is gone. They all died last year, and I have decided to walk the Camino de Santiago,” she explains.
I recognize the same cloak of pain that surrounds her as I saw on Tom a few days ago. She seems to be farther along in the healing process, though, as a sort of joy emanates from her.
“I am trying to learn to live in the moment, and I want to let go. I have been so angry at life. You know. Why did this have to happen to me. I feel like it is unfair,” She explains. It is completely dark outside now. The candles light the room as our shadows dance on the stone walls behind us. My face warm with wine, I share with her one of my favorite quotes about death. It is a little bit corny but I go for it anyway.
“What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, we call a butterfly.” —Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now
“Has your walk helped?” Amy asks.
“Absolutely. I don’t know how but I lost my anger somewhere along the Way. I am now making room for peace and acceptance of what is. What I can’t change,” she says. “I have actually been walking at night.”
“What!?” There is a collective gasp at the table.
“Why at night? That must be really difficult and a little dangerous,” Jacob says.
“I don’t know. Something has just been driving me to walk at night. I have been waking up at two in the morning most days and just walking in the dark. I haven’t gotten lost yet. Or robbed,” she smiles.
“Has it helped? Walking at night?” Amy asks.
“I actually fell yesterday. I dislocated my shoulder and had to pop it back into place,” she says in a matter of fact tone. “If you could have heard my scream you would have thought I was giving birth or something. It was really painful.”
“If that would have happened to me I probably would have died,” I joke. She pulls up her sleeve and shows us the cuts and bruises on her arm.
“It has been sort of cathartic for me,” she explains. “All of this physical pain has been good for my soul. I have pushed my body to the limit. But as this is happening my emotional pain is leaving me and has slowly been replaced by peace. I don’t know how it is working but it is healing me slowly.”
“I can’t imagine losing my entire family in the same year,” Isabel says.
“It is a lot. I have been through all of the stages of grief,” she makes air quotes with her hands. “Mostly I have just been really pissed off you know. I have not been very pleasant to be around. And you, Gabriel, why are you here walking?”
I explain my search for purpose to everyone, and Tezka offers up some advice with the others.
“You know it sounds to me like you have been tryin
g to become something or do things that others think is good. I used to do that too. My ego led me to a bank. I was a banker!” She laughs out loud. “Now I am a spiritual healer. Some people think I am crazy. I am a hippie now! But I finally decided to do what I want. Not what my friends think is great. Not what I think will make me somehow better than others. But what I want. You have a strong ego, Gabriel, I can tell. You have a kind soul so listen to that. Stop caring what others think. Stop trying to be better than everyone else.”
“But what if I don’t know what I want?” I reply.
“You do. You just haven’t listened to it. You don’t have the courage yet,” she replies. “I will tell you what I tell my clients who come to me for advice. You may have already seen this advice in magazines or online. All day tomorrow while you are walking. Focus on one simple question. What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?”
“That is good advice,” Amy replies. Everyone at the table nods in agreement.
“How bout you, Art? How did you decide to live here in Spain?” Amy asks.
“I also walked the Camino de Santiago a few years ago and was inspired to quit my job in England and buy an old building out here in the woods. I love to paint so I decided to go for it. I turned my little building into an art studio, which is just down the trail,” he explains in his thick British accent. “You should stop by in the morning.”
A toast! Jacob raises his wine glass. “To what amazing things a long trek can do and may you all find your own way!”
I am buzzing with positive energy after our evening. Tezka is one of those people you meet that somehow make you feel better after spending time with them. I feel so good spiritually that I can barely sleep. Amy’s entry in the Camino journal sums it up perfectly: Today was one of my favorite days! Amazing place to stay with incredible energy and people.
Tomorrow we continue through the forest. I can’t wait to see what lies ahead.
Crowds
Trail Days 24—26
With well over 200,000 people walking the Camino de Santiago every year, it is inevitable that your daily hikes through nature can become a lesson in patience.1 We have been lucky thus far and have been able to avoid the masses when we want. It has seemed like simply a popular trail in a typical national park. At some points, I have even questioned the statistics as I stare at a landscape void of humans. Only myself and Amy. I know this is all about to change.
The feeling of seclusion has been enhanced today by a persistent and thick fog. The trail is amazingly beautiful. We are alone on a dirt path and the branches of this old forest are so thick that they wrap over our heads, acting as a sort of natural umbrella protecting us from the rain. The only sound is the wind and the occasional drop of water that escapes the leaves and falls onto my rain jacket. The oak, chestnut, and beech trees have seen many pilgrims before us and will see many more generations long after I am gone.
My mind starts to think about our dinner conversation from last night. Why is it so hard to live in the moment? I tend always to focus on my next project or goal. This drives me crazy, but it is so hard to stop. If I only made more money. If I could only have more time to do things like this. If only I didn’t get injured a few days ago. If only … . During a break, I glance at our map to get our bearings and see a quote I needed to hear: “The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance; the wise man grows it under his feet.” —J.R. Oppenheimer.
The trees seem to sway with approval as I read the words. I think about my injury a few days ago and the lessons I am trying to put into practice. It is not about comparing yourself to others. It is not about the destination. It is most definitely not about what could have been if my body didn’t break. When there are literally no people around for me to compare myself to, it seems an easier lesson to learn. A sudden joy bubbles up from my chest turning itself into a smile. I think I might be getting the hang of this.
We continue on, making our way up, up, and finally above the trees and the clouds. The views today are spectacular and make it well worth walking through the Galician rain. As the hours pass, each trail looks like the cover of a meditation self-help book. I expect a troll, hobbit, or fairy to jump out from behind a moss covered log at anytime.
I am enjoying the solitude as much as possible because we are about to pass through Sarria. This is where the trail will become crowded. Sarria is the starting place for pilgrims who are short on time but want to receive the Compostela (the official paper that says you have completed the Camino de Santiago) once they arrive in Santiago de Compostela. The minimum requirement to receive the Compostela is 100 kilometers by foot, or 200 kilometers by bike.2 Busloads of tourists are dropped off in this city, which is the first that meets the 100 kilometer walking requirement. We have heard that the number of pilgrims will increase exponentially after Sarria, and the trail can sometimes turn into a walking traffic jam.
Trying to avoid the crowds, Amy and I strategize and plan on staying in the villages just past or before the main stops listed in most guidebooks. The albergues are packed in these big cities, so avoiding the masses can relieve the crowd shock many pilgrims experience at this point. Because we have already spent a large portion of our budget on several hotels, luxury is not an option. The budget has suffered enough.
“If we ever do this again,” I tell Amy, “we should bring a light two person tent!”
“Only if you carry it!” she jokes.
A small number of pilgrims do bring tents with them and instead of fighting for a bed and cramming into the network of albergues all along the Way, they stop next to the trail to set up camp. They simply throw up their tent and enjoy the silence, free of charge. The path of the Camino de Santiago aligns with The Milky Way and lying on your back outside of your tent, one can enjoy the 300 billion stars that shine overhead in an incredible cosmic scene. There is minimal light pollution to dim your celestial show. Some choose to walk at night for this very reason. The trail lit by stars.
We pass quickly through the streets of Sarria and make our way to Barbadelo. I do notice a slight change in the number of people on the trail, but it is not significant. As we rest on a log, a family of four passes by. They clearly have started their journey today, and their packs are gigantic. The kids are around seven and eight years old, and I can only imagine the multitude of extra things mom and dad must have to carry. They wear the excitement of a fresh new adventure and enthusiastically yell to us, “Buen Camino!!” as they pass.
“They smell good,” Amy observes after they are gone.
“I know!” I reply. “I noticed that too! They smell like fresh laundry and soap.” I sniff at my shirt.
“I wonder what we smell like to them?” Amy laughs.
“Let’s just say if we met that family on the street in our current state anywhere else but on this trail, they might lock their car doors.” I am only half joking while staring at weeks worth of toothpaste stains on my one long sleeve shirt. I need to stop brushing my teeth in the dark.
We eventually check into another Xunta Albergue, the only one for miles, which is run by the government of Galicia. Despite our plan to avoid the crowds, as we approach Barbadelo, I see a line of pilgrims waiting to get a bed. This is the first albergue line we have experienced so far, but luckily we do end up getting a bed. These places are dirt cheap, this one only 5 euros per night and popular because of it. Several people are turned away after we check in. The albergue is completely full. We head upstairs, and my mood instantly sours.
All of the bunk beds are pushed together with little space in between. As we enter the room, we squeeze by people to find a bunk. This can’t be up to fire code, that is for sure. We are stuffed in the room like clowns in a tiny car. There is a group of young guys listening to some loud talk radio show not giving a damn that there are 30 others packed into the room. We try to take showers, and they are ice cold. Guys and girls shower in the same room as well which makes it interesting for Amy.
By bedtime I put my earplug
s in and lie on my side ready for sleep. I find a large bearded man snoring right in front of my face. His bunk might as well be considered the same bed as mine. I can almost smell what he had for dinner, his breath making waves in the room. He has done nothing wrong, but still I despise him. I want nothing more than to be anywhere but here lying next to him and the other 30 people in this small room.
My claustrophobia is ironic as I shared a room with my mom until I graduated from high school. We had a bunk bed. I slept on the top bunk and she slept on the bottom. You would think I would be used to not having my own space. After our short time living in a tent, my mom was able to find a small place for us to live. This was before tiny houses were a phenomenon worth websites and documentaries about living with less. Before it was in style. But we lived in a tiny house. It was a home, with a roof, a wood burning stove and a small space for a bunk bed. You would think I could get used to these albergues.
Our 25th day on the trail promises the largest crowds yet. But not before a peaceful morning trek. We get an early start, and the sun’s rays are spectacular this morning as we walk during yet another sunrise. The golden orange light cuts through the trees highlighted by the mist to form dozens of individual sunbeams. The sound of our walking sticks is absorbed by the clouds. The feeling of seclusion and peace is incredibly calming. In this setting, I couldn’t stress myself out if I tried.
All along the Camino de Santiago we have noticed creative entrepreneurs who set up little food stands in locations that have particularly large gaps between villages. This morning, we decide to stop at one for the first time. Outside of an old stone barn, in the middle of nowhere, we see a nice looking woman who has hot coffee, fruit, and snacks. It is donativo, or pay what you want.
Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago Page 12
