On my first Camino trek in 2003, I was DEAD with blisters, and exhaustion, after the first day from St.Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles on Spanish side of Pyrenees. But I did talk about it in an earlier entry.
Next day, I met an Austrian woman, who traveled on foot with her German shepherd, and spent nights with her husband who followed them in their RV. Then there was a young Spaniard who ran, yes ran, with his little black puppy. I met him again a month later in Santiago, and it was a grown up puppy that recognized me (the puppy wanted to stay with me in the forest in Navarra).
I was very very slow, all pilgrims were passing me all the time, and I still made it in time to get a place at albergues on the way.
In Zubiri, Maria: a middle-aged woman from Milan, who spends her retirement walking with a backpack all over Europe and Asia. I met her again in Najera, but only because she sprained her ankle, and therefore was stuck there for a few days more.
By Zubiri a lot of pilgrims begun hanging out together after the day of walking. Not I, of course. People like me just want to be like others, want to be social, but are not. It is an impossibility. I try, but it does not work. Fear.
Two girls from the University of Washington: one from Washington, the other from New York. Somewhere along the way I give them all my remaining Zone bars. I am completely fed up with them, and for them it is a chance to save on food. I met them next day in Torre de Arre, just a few kilometers outside of Pamplona. there was no way I could make it to Pamplona with my hurting feet. We met, and went to a bar to wait there before the albergue would open. Nice girls had orange juice, at almost 2 Euro each. I had a glass of tinto. At 60 cents. Of course they had to try and save on the food with such prices for orange juice! I would not even try and blame students' budget for that.
At the albergue there was Marc from France. Close to 60, I cannot tell on which side of 60 though. A pilgrim on the Camino since 10 years. Walks back and forth, and very slowly. That is his meditation. His retreat.
He was the only guest at the albergue when I arrived (the American girls and Maria, and another Maria from Mexico City, decided to go on to Pamplona that day;other pilgrims arrived later), and offered me coffee immediately. We spoke extensively, although he spoke in French - which I do not know - and I in English - which he did not know. We understood each other splendidly. I was given a lot of useful tips, mainly on which albergues to avoid. Very useful. Extremely. Apparently, some were really not very nice, or with really not nice or unwelcoming hospitaleros. I do not think it is so anymore. The Camino's importance in Spanish economy grew incredibly since then, and the locals, as well as all the Camino associations, make sure to make all acceptable by all pilgrims' standards.
Next morning, after leaving the hostel and starting on my way to Pamplona (4.5km only, but I decided to take a break to heal my feet), I pass a woman standing, waiting for something or someone, with a girl in a wheelchair. I feel that woman's pain, but she is not sad at all. Only resigned.
I keep on passing all those people children adults young old, a wonderful humanity. I feel only love.
Then, in the evening, I feel guilt. I left my husband, my children, and am going in search of myself. How selfish! What about my "real" life? Oh God, what is "real"?
I stayed 3 nights at a hotel in Pamplona. Rested, tended to my feet, walked around the city, bought myself Tevas, and was without people around me except at the lobby of my hotel, but it was enough to say Buenos Dias Buenas Noches Adios, and I did not have to interact with anyone at all. Then came time to leave, and my new Tevas were my lifesavers. I will walk in them until my feet heal. However, just a few steps from the hotel, on the bridge from casco viejo into the new city, I trip over and would land face first on the cement sidewalk with my heavy backpack pushing me towards it, if it were not for two strangers who caught me just in time. The were relatively far from me, but both reacted incredibly fast. And they were so nice, and talked to me for the longest time, and I, I!, begun to talk, too! A bit of Spanish, a bit of English, and we had a conversation. Two random people on the way to work. That must have been a beginning of the change for me. The sun shone brighter, and my steps became more certain. Even the wonderful Basque musicians and dancers that kept me awake are forgotten, even the melancholy of my I-will-not-buy-any-of-those-heavenly-roasted-chestnuts-just-because-my-daughters-who-love-them-are-not-with-me-so-I-will-punish-myself-and-not-have-any-either is gone, and I walk on. And I know I will make it to Santiago.
That day I walked 28km, over Alto de Perdon, where it is really hard to climb, wind blows, and I meet a still another character: a retiree from England, who wants to give something back to the Camino. So he sold all he owned, and bought an RV. Drove to Spain, and travels along the Camino, takes care of pilgrims' feet, massages them, all for just a donation, and sells some nice cold drinks in isolated places like Alto de Perdon. One feels definitely forgiven when meeting people like that.
(Notice the note on the garbage collection box: 'Throw here all bottles-painful memories-tins-unrealistic ambitions-plastic cups-paper-discarded ideas-outdated concepts-rejected lovers-unappreciative boss-unfaithful spouse")
These were just a few people I met during the four weeks on the Way. And it was just the beginning of my change. The friends I made are forever with me, and the changes that took place in me - wow. I actually can talk with people now!
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