by Kurt Koontz
After walking together for about six kilometers we stopped for breakfast in Mansilla de las Mulas. Steve was actually traveling with a woman named Mary Beth. He walked alone in the mornings to enjoy the solitude. He always had breakfast at the next village and patiently waited for their daily reunion. We selected an ideal little breakfast nook. The toast was delightful, the setting unique, and the warmth refreshing. After eating, I wrote in my journal, anxious to capture the previous hours while they were fresh in my head.
I wrote for about a half hour and decided to return to the road. Within five minutes, I was once again traveling with my blond friend, Eugina, from Greece. She did not look good and was nursing the terrible residual effects from too much cabernet wine. Blistered feet gave her further difficulties. During one break, she showed me the soles of her feet. Like the aftermath of a car wreck, we always look but regret the vision. After the rest, we parted ways but did not waste time saying goodbye.
On this day, the Camino ran very near a busy highway with lots of traffic leading to the city of León. A few bridge crossings really tested the nerves, but for the most part the elevated road could not be seen from our parallel path. I began to wonder about the proximity to other people. Here I was, on the trip of a lifetime walking down a cool path while loving life and nature. Ten yards away, cars flew down a highway in a hurry to get to who-knows-where for who-knows-what reason. I cannot imagine that most of the drivers even knew the trail existed, let alone that people like me were currently going through a life-changing experience. It sure added a new dimension to the idea of being so close yet so far away.
Steve and Mary Beth crossed my path, and we spent the rest of the afternoon together en route to León, the last big city along the road to Santiago. Once again, I planned to get a nice hotel and take a day of rest to explore the area. When we arrived at the edge of town, Steve and Mary Beth took a detour to the first albergue while I started my search for a hotel.
With all of the peace and solitude of the Camino, being in a city was quite a different experience. The noise of the cars, the commerce, and the crowded streets really overwhelmed the calmed senses. I had a natural tendency toward introversion along the trail. The reminders of daily life in a city rudely interrupted this quiet state of being.
For the first time on the entire Camino, I lost my little yellow arrows. Since I could see the large cathedral in the town center, there was no reason to panic, but the simplicity of following the markers was no longer present. Instead of hanging around people with smiles and backpacks, I was instead surrounded by local Spaniards who were busy going through the motions of daily life. Even though I walked alone for at least 80% of the time, to be completely separated from the group did not give me a feeling of comfort. I tried to get a room at a few hotels, but like Burgos, they were all booked. Standing on a busy street in a busy town and not knowing a single person, I felt a sense of loneliness. I looked down a side street and saw a lone pilgrim who appeared to be lost. I felt a need to rescue him and help find the albergue. I also immediately scrapped my plan to stay in a hotel. I needed to be with my people!
Together, we navigated our way to Albergue Santa María de Carbajal, which is run by the Benedictine nuns. They charged five Euros for the night and an extra eight Euros to wash and dry a single load of laundry. It was the first time that I experienced separate quarters for men and women. Prior to this time, everything was completely co-ed. No formal restriction prevented daytime visits throughout the facility, but the nuns wanted us separated when the lights were out. This place had 144 beds spread throughout four dormitories. My room had at least 60 beds and set a new standard for being cramped into a small space.
Bunks are a fact of life on the Camino and an integral part of the overall experience. While there is always someone above or below, the “aisle” between bunks usually allows for a bit of separation. Not at this place. The nuns separated boys from girls, but not the beds. The bunks were arranged in pods two wide and three deep for a cluster of 12 beds. In other words, someone slept above me, and my bed touched the mattress on the left. The man in the bed next to me was a former Navy Seal from Arizona. Probably not a good idea to kick him in the middle of the night.
After taking a relaxing hot shower, I took all of my clothes to the hospitalero, paid my eight Euros, and began to imagine the luxury of having my entire wardrobe washed in an actual washing machine. The thought was pure heaven. Wearing my remaining two articles of clothes, gym shorts and windbreaker, I descended the stairs toward the courtyard.
I planned to write in my journal, soak up the sun, and wait for my clothes to be cleaned by the big machine. While enjoying this relaxing time, I began to see a stream of friends. Had I stayed in a hotel, I would have completely missed seeing so many old acquaintances. Throughout the afternoon, I saw Toby, Joseph, Mateo, Pasqual, Eugina, Steve, Mary Beth, Judith, Sun Eh, Morgues, Kasper, Nicole, Massimo, and Mom. The Camino told me to be with my people and they were bountiful. I cannot remember another “homecoming” event where I saw so many old friends in one location. There was no randomness in these random meetings. After this day, I never saw half of these people again, including Massimo and Mom.
After retrieving my clothes, I decided to venture into town for some snacks and sightseeing. This town was bustling with people and offered lots of interesting places to visit. The main cathedral was built on a site that was home to Roman baths in the second century. Eight hundred years later, it became a palace for King Ordoño, who successfully defended the region from Arab invaders. Today, the Christian Gothic church is known for its more than 1,800 square meters of stained glass.
After a bit of ice cream, I ventured back toward the albergue. A stage was set up for some type of live concert that evening. A lone man provided afternoon entertainment for a crowd of about 25 people. It amazed me that more did not stop to hear him because the surrounding area was swarming with people. In my previous life, the one that had ended 15 days before, I probably would have walked by, too. This man played a variety of instruments, none of which I had ever seen or heard, for at least an hour. I could not understand a single word, but his melodies and tone filled my heart with joy. Glancing at a placard, I discovered that the very unique building near my seat was the Casa de los Botines designed by Antoni Gaudi, one of the most famous architects in the world. Just another average day on this average adventure.
Back at the albergue, I saw Steve and Mary Beth. They asked me to join them to attend the nuns singing Vespers at the convent chapel. We sat in pews running perpendicular to the four rows of nuns. The 16 nuns looked like motionless mannequins until the bells rang at seven o’clock. Precisely at that time, they all came to life, reached for their choir books, and began a chilling chant. Throughout the hour, the nuns charmed my ears with miraculous notes.
The chanting nuns and my encounter with Steve took my thoughts to charity and poverty.
Back in Boise, one of my favorite volunteer activities is working with a group named Friends in Action (FIA). This group matches volunteers with seniors who need a little help remaining independent in their own homes. The opportunities to serve include rides to the doctor, light housework, grocery shopping, yard maintenance, and basic friendship. I enjoyed meeting and helping many people, but one became a dear friend.
The organization sent me a weekly e-mail with a list of people and a short description of the need. One lady, Margo, was always on the list and required transportation to a local facility for chemotherapy. This seemed a bit heavy compared to a more routine amble through Wal-Mart with an aging granny. After seeing her name for months, I decided to expand my comfort zone and take her to Mountain States Tumor Institute for treatment.
We liked each other immediately. Before the initial ride, I spent about 30 minutes in her living room listening to her life story. She had enjoyed a successful career at IBM. She had travelled the world and lived in developing countries. Over the next few
months our friendship grew during our weekly rides to the hospital. At some point, she began to call me directly and only used FIA when I was not able to provide transportation.
Over the following years, our friendship blossomed and we became very close. When she received good or bad news regarding her cancer, I was typically the first person to learn about the new status. When the news was grim, I was often the one who needed to be uplifted by her overwhelmingly upbeat and positive attitude.
Roberta and I began to spend time with her on a social basis. We enjoyed a few lunches together, then dinner at her house, and she finally became an “honored guest” at our most special holidays, including Christmas and Easter. If a person was keeping a ledger on the benefits of this relationship, it was heavily weighted in our favor!
When I returned from Spain, I was looking forward to taking her to lunch and gushing about my recent experiences. I left several messages on her phone over a three-week period. It was common to wait a week or two for a return call, but three weeks took the level of concern to an uncomfortable level. One day, I finally punched her name into the Idaho Statesman on-line obituaries. A wave of sadness knocked me down when my deepest fears were confirmed. She passed on October 8, 2012 when I was 24 miles from the Cathedral in Santiago, the end of my road.
While I regret the opportunity to have said a proper goodbye, I celebrate the lessons that this wonderful lady taught me about always being open to new people and LISTENING to their stories. “Their problems may not be life-threatening cancer,” Margo said, “but they are just as significant to the person who feels them.”
Day 16
Camino Art
As I departed León, I left the Meseta behind and began the final 200-mile stretch that would terminate in Santiago. The first third of the trip gave my body strength and endurance. My mind blew free on the flat and windy Meseta. I now looked forward to quenching my soul in the mountainous passages through Galicia.
The night before, the streets of León had been crawling with people. This early morning atmosphere was completely the opposite with barely a sound and rarely a person. The only constant noise was the rhythmic noise when Duran’s metal tip met the cobblestones. Four steps, “clack”; four steps, “clack”; four steps…
While trying to navigate my way out of the city, I came across another pilgrim who seemed to be lost. Tomeo was a young man from Japan. In spite of the significant language barrier, we made a connection each time we discovered the elusive yellow arrows marking our path.
While walking with Tomeo, we greeted all strangers with the standard, “Hola. Buenos días.” In a village, this was typically met with a smile and usually the magic words, “Buen Camino.” But in the crowded cities, people didn’t seem to be as friendly. It bothered my companion that people did not respond to his greetings. He struggled to communicate his frustration. Finally, I understood what he was trying to say. Although his English was broken, his comment was eloquent. “No good face,” he said.
Once again, I thought of my conversations with Steve from the day before. We do give off good energy and bad energy and what we receive is connected to what we give off. Our energy cannot be contained and escapes through the body and face.
We bid each other farewell at the edge of the city. The wind had finally stopped blowing, and the sky was crystal clear without the hint of a cloud. I knew the cool morning would yield to an immaculately pleasant afternoon.
This portion of the path lies very near to a somewhat busy road. I began to think about how easy it would be for a careless driver to accidentally swerve into a pilgrim.
With that less-than-pleasant thought, my mind turned to all of the things that could prematurely terminate my Camino. Obviously, an auto accident would be a horrific ending, but there were many more possibilities. I am sure that physical fatigue has prevented many pilgrims from seeing Santiago. Illness was another potential threat. An infection of a blister or rolling an ankle could also end the trip. Severe weather was always a possible showstopper. The last stretch is very close to the Atlantic coast and is known to be similar to the Celtic region, with unstoppable rain a frequent guest. The fragility of the trip was suddenly at the forefront of my mind.
Sure enough, that led to wider thoughts about my life. A long list of accidents and terminal diseases, completely beyond our control, could result in premature disability or death. Just like each day on the Camino, I understood that life must never be taken for granted. There is absolutely no guarantee that tomorrow will exist, and it if does, our physical condition may limit our enjoyment. There is no way to be happy yesterday or tomorrow. The only time to be happy is now. The only time to be or feel anything is now. In reviewing my life, I can see so many countless hours of useless worrying that took me away from the present moment. That time can never be recouped. The present truly is a gift.
At that point, Steve (still looking like Sting) caught up with me. For about an hour, I enjoyed his intriguing and exceptional outlook on life. I made a note to coordinate a connection between him and Scaughdt, the man who had inspired me to make this trip. We stopped for some breakfast together. I departed while he continued his morning ritual of waiting for Mary Beth.
While walking out of the village, named La Virgen del Camino, I nearly missed a major piece of Camino art. When the path took a 45-degree turn to the left, I looked over my right shoulder to see 13 gigantic bronze statues in the front of a church. In the sixteenth century, the legend goes, a shepherd saw a vision of the Virgin. She told him to throw a stone and to construct a church where it landed. Today, 12 statues of the apostles stand at that spot, with St. James peering toward Santiago. The Virgin Mary floats above the entire scene. The story felt nearly as impulsive and beautiful as my decision to walk the Camino.
Back on the trail, I walked alone for a short time before meeting up with my Hungarian friend Judith. She told me that her friend Annie was still under the weather and was several days behind her. Judith was not optimistic that her friend would complete the trip. Judith was in need of a rest, and we once again parted ways.
The Camino once again treated me to glorious sun, mild temperatures, and stunning scenery. I put on my headphones and, as usual, the ideal song teed up for my enjoyment, The Rain Song by Led Zeppelin. This song happened to run for more than seven minutes. It provided so much enjoyment I repeated the song four times in a row, singing along with my walking stick microphone. I think it was better each time.
My camera would not stay in its pink pouch. I snapped pictures of statues, barking dogs, a pair of boots resting on a marker, yellow arrows, brick patterns, keyholes, brightly colored doors, the Camino, landscapes, new friends, my backpack, and even my coffee cup. Duran had his own modeling portfolio at this stage.
I slowly caught up to two men, Simon from Holland and Jon from the U.K., then enjoyed much of that day in and out of their company. We shared stories and belly laughs. They joked about being away from their women (400 yards) and asked me to drop behind and steer them down another path. This joke caused another round of belly laughs. Here were three grown men laughing like children and smiling like there was not a care in the world. Eventually, Jon rejoined his wife, I stopped for a bathroom break, and Simon kept walking. When I caught back up to him again later, he was walking alone and singing a song.
I ended the day at Albergue Jesús in Villar de Mazarife. I had been there for about an hour before Steve and Mary Beth walked through the front gates. The surprise of seeing former acquaintances had been replaced with an expectation that I would always see my peregrino friends.
This hostel had tremendous character. My room, with two sets of wooden bunks, was painted lime green. Each of the other nine rooms was painted its own distinct pastel color.
Drawings and written words from previous pilgrims covered every colorful wall in the place. Long and short missives were written in languages from every corner of the world. I spent h
ours going from room to room to admire everything. I took at least 25 photos.
One of my favorite images was of a beautiful young woman. The charcoal drawing on a white wall only hinted at her hair and the shape of her face but detailed her eyes, lips, and smile. It was captivating in its simplicity. Another painting pictured two faces surrounded by a red heart on a green wall. The profiles showed Sven in an eye lock with his lover Susanne. The accompanying text, dated 29.3.2007, read: “Live the good you have learned here.”
I spent the afternoon and evening meandering through the tiny village and visiting with pilgrims from four continents. Don was especially interesting. Although he had spent 20 of his 21 years in Germany, he identified himself as Korean. On the Camino, we expressed our unique identities while we also celebrated our abundant, universal similarities.
Day 17
Marathon
I departed Albergue Jesús on a Sunday, although days of the week really did not matter on this trip. The temperature could not have exceeded 40 degrees Fahrenheit (4.5 Celsius). The skies were crystal clear and the stars in full bloom. The moonlight shone so brightly I found my headlamp unnecessary. This was a new experience, and it brought me an inordinate amount of happiness.
I sensed the impending sunrise and repeatedly looked over my shoulder. The sky continued to lighten but the sun seemed to be taking its time to arrive. An endless string of gigantic electrical transmission towers supported three tiers of wires along the narrow road that served as the Camino on this morning. The earth was pitch black and the towers were invisible up to the horizon where they joined the trees in silhouette. When the sun finally crested the horizon, I witnessed a spectacular sight. The silhouettes behind me were backlit by a fluorescent orange that faded to a crystal clear blue. In front of me, the full moon still laid claim to its place in the sky. Instead of pinching myself to make sure it was not a dream, I took photos and looked forward to replaying the scene at home.
