true life planet

So, last off, I was walking along with my two new friends. We were doing quite well, walking along at a good pace, and I was finally mastering the use of my walking poles.

We stopped off at a little bar in Viskarret, a tiny vilage not conssiting of much but the aforementioned bar, where we rested and ate bocadillos and drank hot coffee. After the bar, we took off again,keeping along at a nice pace-but frankly, it was much too fast for me. I felt like I didn´t have time to see anything at all-only time to concentrate on the walking and using the poles and watching for traffic and looking out for slippery rocky bits.

I was grateful when my two companions decided to continue on without me. I slowed down considerably, taking breaks as I needed them. I scribbled in my drawing book, wrote notes in my journal, and enjoyed the absolutely breathtaking views.

Many people on the camino stopped and talked to me-but I found that if I walked with someone else, I concentrated not on the surounding beauty, but on having a conversation. So I usually would just send them onwards with a wave and a smile, perferring instead to have my part of the trail to myself.

One thing that really struck me as I walked was how fast everyone was going-many people only had a defined amount of time to either complete the entire walk, or to complete one stage of it. It seemed a bit competitive as well, and people´s conversations were often about how much one was carrying, and how light their load was; how fast someone was; and so on. Hardly anyone talked of spiritual things, or even historical things along the way. Rarely did anyone seem to stop and relax, or breathe in the absolute beauty of the countryside. I found this somewhat astonishing.

Many people seemed to be walking the walk as a walk; as something to check off one´s list as having done; and so on. Although I am aware there are many different ways to do the Camino, on this first day alone, I became aware of the exhausting pace people tried to keep up with-and this colored my perception of the Camino greatly.

I was feeling somewhat disenchanted with the whole experience, when I met a wonderful woman and her sister, who were doing the walk in memory of their mother. Just walking with these two incredible souls, who were very observant about the plants and wildlife along the walk as well, rejuvenated my spirit considerably.

At about this time, the Camino began to decend into Zubiri. The booklet I had brought along about the Camino had said ¨The camino descent into Zubiri is difficult in bad weather…¨Well, the weather was getting worse by the moment. In fact, it had not stopped raining the entire day, and only seemed to be getting worse.

The descent was difficult for many reasons: It was very steep; it was very rocky-a sort of slippery slate; it was muddy; and I had to concentrate so much not to slip and fall, that I barely looked up to see what was next. The rain made everything slick and wet, and the mud on my boots soon covered the lower half of my pants, as well.

I saw three people fall along the way. Everyone was always very nice and helpful to each other, and when someone fell, everyone stopped and helped the person.

I finally fell myself.

Falling down, especially at the start, had been a worry for me. I do not have the best ankles for various reasons, and so I was worried that they would not be strong enough to handle parts of the Camino.

Still, I wasn´t expecting to fall so soon. I basically twisted my right ankle quite badly.

There was no choice but to keep going, and so keep going is what I did. I was in tears, as I was thinking about what this would mean for my Camino journey, and whether I was an idiot to attempt it at all. Other people who had also fallen on their first day were going thru the same thing, and it was impossible to cheer anyone up-we couldn´t even take off our shoes to look at our injuries in the pouring rain and mud anyhow.

The walking poles I had bought the week before saved me. I was able to actually walk all the way to Zubiri-a total of 15 miles journey within the first day-in spite of having an injury.

When I finally got to Zubiri, I gratefully hpbbled to the refugio in the center of town, took off my boots and socks, and surveyed the damage to my ankle. It looked better than I thought it would-sort of purplish and swollen, though, which wasn´t promising. It hurt like hell.

I wrapped it, elevated it, iced it, and lay on my bunk bed thinking about my dream of doing the Camino de Santiago. Maybe I would not be able to do it. Maybe I should just stop. Maybe it was insane with my ankles to attempt it.

I think what made it especially difficult was that I was surrounded by people who were really into doing the whole thing, or most of it, as quickly as possible. I sort of felt idiotic that I was already injured, and not wanting to keep going. Many other people were starting to arrive at the refugio at this point, and they were unwrapping their bandaged feet, ankles, knees, and toes..popping pain killers, even.

I was so tired from all the walking and the stress of having to figure out what to do next, that I fell fast asleep. When I awoke, I went outside, only to find my two friends that I had started out with(the Australian woman and the the Englishman) waiting outside. They had arrived hours before, and were talking about meeting for dinner. We agreed to meet a bit later, and I showed them my very ugly ankle.

Everyone gave me alot of advice on how to treat it, and I followed all of it. The main thing I decided to follow was the advice of a man from Madrid, who told me that ¨my Camino is my Camino¨, and that I should just skip any difficult parts(parts that my ankle couldn´t handle). He gave me alot to think about-and he had great maps of the Camino as well, which we spread out on my bunk bed. He helped me figure out a better route, with no major downhill parts and so on.

How grateful I am to this stranger-no doubt because of him, I´m still on the Camino.

By dinner I was in much better spirits-and the dinner itself was really lovely. The Englishman had a Spanish wife, and so had been living in Spain for many years-his Spanish was impeccable, his mastery over the menu a gift. We had the most extraordinary meal, a true Basque meal, of a salted cod and potato cold salad and tiny red peppers stuffed with salted cod so creamy and delicate it melted in my mouth. 

Walking back to the refugio was not as pleasant, the town of Zubiri(like many others) seems to been taken over by modern apartment complexes, which are of brick and quite undistinguished. The old parts of the town were not near the refugio, and so the town did not seem to have much charm.

This time, the refugio was a pleasant place to sleep-only 24 people to a room!  By some miracle, we had no snorers. Or perhaps I was so tired that I slept thru them all.

Gigi

I arrived in Roncesvalles with about 50 other people, all starting off their Camino from this well known starting point.

On the bus, I felt a bit nervous…everyone seemed to speak multiple languages and have traveled alot..the average age for those doing the Camino seemed to be about 55.

We arrived in Roncevalles, and it was so pretty that I couldn´t imagine leaving the very next day. It was green pastures, old stone buildings and walls, mist rising up over hills of green, cows and sheep making beautiful sounds with the rusty bells strapped about all of their necks.

There was, however, no real time to even look around, as we were all ushered off to the monastery, where we had to stand in line and then fill out paperwork for our Pilgrim Passport. It was a bit of a mad rush, everyone trying to get ahead of everyone else.

After out Passports, we had to walk to the Refugio, which was somewhat confusing for me. When I finally found it, I was greeted by an old man with a twinkle in his eye at the door, who explained all of the rules(of which there were many!). I wasn´t listening too much as I was sort of overwhelmed by the sight of over 200 people who were changing their clothes, lying in bunk beds, talking, laughing, sleeping…

The building itself was fantastic, a kind of magical medieval start to my Camino. A old converted sone barn, it soared to an incredible height. It had beautiful archways in the doorways, and it was amazing to touch this old, cold gray stone that had been hewn so long ago.

Once again, though, no real time to appreciate it, as I was told to go get my bed, and there were only a few left. Also, because I was younger than many of the other Camino ´ers, I was told I had to be in a top bunk. So I wandered down the narrow walkway between the rows of bunk beds, dodging  people who were changing their clothes and so on, and finally, at the end of the wall, round the last remaining upper bunk.

My bunk was in the corner, right next to the stone wall. It seemed perfectly situated, and I was quite happy with it..except for the man beneath me, who seemed to be napping, and unfortunately, storing away. There was no ladder or anything to get up into it, so I sort of had to swing myself up into it(somewhat easier than it sounds).

Once in the bunk, I just looked around at the scene. It was a madhouse-people going thru their packs;people changing and standing around in their underwear, in spite of people being less than 3 feet away from them; people unbandaging their feet(obviously had come over from France); people sleeping; people, people, people. I wasn´t expecting this-I´m not sure what I expected, really-but this seemed to me to be quite alot of mayhem.

Not time to observe too long, as it was announced that we were to go to the Pilgrim Mass in about 15 minutes at the church. Also, if we wanted anything to eat, we had to reserve and pay for our food at the restaurant down the hill before Mass. So off I went to reserve my place for dinner and then I went to Mass.

The church itself was really a very pretty little church, consecrated in 1219. It is one of the earliest Gothic monuments in Spain, and it was one of the first churches in Spain to have such large windows. It was here that the magic of the journey hit me, that I would be walking a walk that countless others had before me. The spiritual part of the journey was beginning-and I was glad, as up to now, it hadn´t seemed that spiritual, more like a rush to get there.

The Mass was lovely, and at the end, the priest blessed all the pilgrims in many different languages. After the Mass, I felt more comraderie with my fellow pilgrims, and I happily walked down the rocky street to the restaurant for dinner. I stopped for a few moments and enjoyed a spectacular view of sheep on a green hillside, mist rising up, the evening sky a beautiful violety-grey. Breathtaking.

I guess I stopped too long, for when I got to the restaurant, it was already packed with pilgrims, seated in groups at round tables. The waitress looked surprised to see me, and hastily seated me at one of the remaining places.

My dinner mates consisted of: two Italian men, who were very funny but spoke little English; an Englishman, who was an expat living in Spain, and who was very funny and knowledgable about the Camino; a young Australian woman, traveling on her own for the first time; two brothers from Argentina, also expats living in Spain; and a woman from Slovenia, whose life had been full of challenges in the past year, and had decided to do the Camino as an act of faith. I was seated next to the Slovenian woman, and we had a wonderful conversation about life, faith, and why we were doing the Camino.

Dinner was somewhat depressing-it was a ¨Pilgrim Menu¨, something one comes across often on the Camino, where a local bar or restaurant has a preset menu at a low price for pilgrims. Still, I was expecting something a bit different, since it was Spain afterall!

After our meal of wine, bread, fried fish and french fries, we headed back to the refugio that was to be our home on the first night of our journey. There was great happiness and comraderie between all of us, and, I for one, felt more connected to at least a few of the people I was spending the night with!

The refugios operate with the help of volunteers, who basically run the entire place. UPon getting back, we were told to be quiet by the volunteers, and to get ready for bed, as it was lights out in a few minutes time. I got ready for bed and then attempted to get into my upper bunk as quietly as possible, as the man below me was already fast asleep.

Strangely, although I was tired from my journey getting there and just all the new things I was experiencing, I couldn´t sleep. Part of this was due to the number of snoring people in the stone barn-there must have been at least 40 people snoring away. The stone building only made the snoring seem louder.

In fact, every single noise in the enormous room could be heard-whether someone rustling in their sleeping bag, or someone yawning. Actually, every bodily function could be heard. I couldn´t sleep, in spite of earplugs and an eye mask.

I finally fell asleep, only to be awoken by water on my face. Was it water? Was I dreaming? I sat up carefully and quietly, trying not to wake anyone near me. I felt my sleeping bag, by backpack, my clothes sitting beside me on my narrow mattress..they were all wet. I turned my flashlight on towards the ceiling, and realized I had chosen the only bed in the place beneath what seemed to be a very leaky roof. Aha! So that´s why it was the last bed in the place!

Covering myself with my raincoat, I eventually fell back asleep. For a few minutes, anyway-until woken up by the champion snorer in the place(Who I believe was one of the Italians at my table at dinner. He had said he had won snoring contests, and his companion had agreed he was the loudest snorer he had ever heard.)

The night continued on like this until morning arrived, and I gratefully got dressed and packed my things.

Although I would have liked to spend more time in Roncevalles, there was no time to do so. (There are many things of interest to look at having to do with Charlemagne and Roland). But, the walk ahead was long, and the weather was grim-no time to even eat something, just had to get going to get to the next stop in time to both get a bed and hopefully beat the coming storm.

I set off walking with the Australian woman and the Englishman from the night before, our goal being Zubiri, about 15 miles away.

gigi