Notes for a New Day will recount some rather older days during the next few months – journal entries from my pilgrimage on Spain’s camino in 2013.
Wednesday: A beautiful day for walking, no rain, and it was a 30 km day. The owner of the albergue where we stayed in San Xulion has a daughter who is an opera singer, on the faculty of the University of Barcelona. Once we got talking (well, he only spoke Spanish so my son translated as best as he could), he put on Mozart’s Requiem, and then only classical music thereafter. He said, with some disdain, that peregrinos have no culture! His words, not mine.
I sat outside on a flower-filled patio and spent a long time talking to a Finnish couple. This is funny because they told me themselves that Finns are famous for the loooong silences in their conversations. They said that the Swedes are non-stop talkers in comparison. I’ve been to Sweden, so I know that is REALLY funny. These Finns, however, were some of the chattiest people I’ve ever met, perhaps explained by the fact that they told me they live very close to the Swedish border!
Dinner was equally chatty. We sat with a British woman, Jane, who lives in Glastonbury. I asked her first thing if she was a Druid, but she’s not. She didn’t laugh at my question though. She loves Glastonbury because she finds the people there very different from the rest of her countrymen, so she says. She loves nearby Wells Cathedral too, and I urged her to go to Evensong immediately upon returning to England.
Thursday: Well, it had to happen, I suppose. Everyone’s fear on the camino is an injury or a fall. And because I was feeling rather great about having no pain this morning, and perhaps just a little too sure about myself on a long downhill stretch of muddy rocks…I fell. It was inelegant, as these things always are. My body went one way – down – and my right food another – backwards. Nothing broken, but I walked 20 km or so on a very sore foot and it’s swollen now. (and six years later, my right toe reminds me that it probably did break that day and I should have been more respectful of my pain!)
After I fell I was immediately surrounded by four young men, my son included, who were quite worried. I had been hearing the group of three Americans near us on the path singing, and when I looked up into their concerned faces, my first question was if they belonged to an a cappella group. A non-sequitur under the circumstances. I sent the three away, though they were reluctant to leave me on the ground, as I insisted.
Hobble, hobble, hobble. We reached an albergue with space around 2:00 and went across the street for an early dinner. A large circle of mostly Americans, and Jane, were there, including my three young men. I went over to thank them for wanting to help, and met a few others. One from Cape Cod, another from Albuquerque. Everyone is feeling more congenial now that the end is in sight. 40 km to go. One and a half days to do it. Hobble…hobble.
I finished The Age of Innocence. A book about judging others, and doing the right thing. I guess it wasn’t as inappropriate for the camino as I originally thought. I started another book I’ve picked up along the way, The Red Tent, which I’ve been meaning to read for a long time.
I awoke in the night, my foot absolutely throbbing and I called out to anyone in hearing distance within the large bunk room, asking if someone had any aspirin. An angel of mercy appeared with aspirin and water, and sleep became possible.