I stayed in Puente la Reina last night in the albergue Estrella Guia. It was the first private albuergue I slept in. It cost 10 extra Euros and I was worried if I made this a habit, I would be out of money quick. But the Brazilian owners were lovely and the beds were like futuristic pods, complete with curtains and personal outlets. The problem was, it was 90 degrees at night and we had to keep the windows open and that meant little bugs flitting around all night. I stayed with my quick Scottish friend Randolf.
That morning we left before 7am and had a quick walk, trying to beat the heat. We arrived in Estella a little before noon and my partner decided to call it a day and check out the city. Estella is the ancient home of the kings of Navarre and there are many museums and shops to look at. It is a lovely town, but my heart was set on banking some more miles so I could take a rest day later on. I decided to walk on, even though it was really tempting to stay.
As I walked down the cobbled paths I looked to my left and saw curving stairs going up towards an ancient looking building. It was the church San Pedro de la Rua, a beautiful Romanesque style church. Romanesque churches, built solidly with thick walls, and high ceilings, but not filled with flying buttresses or with many stained glass windows, have always been my favorite. Perhaps influenced by the Abbey at Cluny, these simple stone structures draw they eye forward and upward towards God.
It was hot at noon, and I was happy to walk into the cool church San Pedro. Very little of it was open to exploration. Different parts were roped off and I was hot and tired, and not entirely sure how to ask how to look around. The cool grey walls and beautiful main altar called to my interior soul. Sweating and weary, I found an empty pew near the front of the church, put down my bag and walking sticks, took off my hat, knelt down and began to pray.
It had been five days of walking. Five days since I began to live a dream twenty years in the making. I was exhausted, hot, and tired. I felt the love and prayers of my family and all those who supported me and helped me to get here. The cool air brushed against my soaked technical t-shirt. In that almost empty ancient church. I wept. Loudly.
I can’t say exactly what I was feeling then. It was a mix of things. A dream realized. Love and gratitude. Exhaustion and pain. My feet. The sum of life was before me, all of my victories and all of my massive failures. I cried and cried, and cried some more. I was loud. Uncomfortably loud. It was overwhelming. I was here not because I willed myself to be here, not because I made it all happen on my own. I was here because I was loved and sent here by those who loved me. I was living an answered prayer.
Have you ever felt an overwhelming love like that? One that doesn’t make sense? Well, I did. And I was grateful. All I could muster in between the sobs was “thank you.”
Well, someone heard me. I felt a hand on my left shoulder. I grabbed my buff and wiped my face and looked up to find a young man looking at me. He asked if I was all right. I replied that I was and I thanked him. I gathered myself, calmed down, said some prayers, and grabbed my stuff. I wandered around the church a little longer, savoring the cool and laughing to myself that I cried so hard. The young man, who at this point seemed to be shadowing me, walked up to me and asked if I was a pilgrim. I showed him the shell on my backpack and he sweetly said, “would you like to join me and my friends today?”
I thanked him but said I wasn’t sure what my plans were and I felt a little embarrassed about my display of emotions. He said “please, at least meet my friends.” I told him I would be happy to see him on the road.
He left me to it, and walked away, and I continued to laugh to myself and wonder where on Earth this road would lead me.
I felt the heat at the door before I saw the light that blinded me out of the dark church. I walked halfway down the steps when I saw the young man again and heard him say, “there he is, the one I was telling you about.” He ran up to me and invited me to meet his friends. Together they were three. He introduced his friends and they told me that they were high school students from Poland and their friend from the church was a devout Catholic who talked them into walking this pilgrimage. The other two were along for the ride, but open to what they would discover. Their plan was to walk to Santiago and then hitch hike all the way home. They thought they could do it in about three weeks.
It would take me twice that.
They invited me to walk with them again, and again I was hesitant. Their leader replied “how often is it that four seventeen year olds walk to Santiago?!”
They thought I was seventeen! God bless them. Again, sweet internal laughter soothed my soul.
I played a game often on the Camino. The “guess my age” game. Now, it is difficult to tell any adult’s age, but most everyone I ran into would guess mid to late twenties for me. Not too bad. I’ll take it every time. They would be shocked when I told them that this pilgrimage was a dream of mine for twenty years and that I had recently celebrated my 40th birthday.
I was happy to meet them and said if we see each other on the way, I would love to walk with them, but I was going to sort myself out here in Estella for a bit. We went our separate ways and I found a gas station convenience store on the road out of town, bought some chorizo, bread, and a liter of water, and readied myself for the next part of the journey.
Walking out of town I ran into the Polish trio and I thought this must be God’s will; that I become a seventeen year old once again and walk this pilgrims path with these energetic and positive young people.
On the Camino, as you walk, you chat. So we walked, and chatted. We walked by a blacksmith at a forge, hammering away at iron. He was selling all sorts of beautiful metalwork. I bought small iron shell pendant with the St. James cross. I have never taken it off since that day.
Together we came to the town of Irache with the famous “Fuente del Vino,” the wine fountain that gives free wine to pilgrims, donated by the bodegas of the region. I put out my shell and poured some wine into it and had a drink. It was warm and red and a pleasure. My companions filled their bottles.
We walked on and I soon realized I would not be able to keep pace. I told them not to slow down on my account and that I would be stopping at the next town for a cold drink. About seven kilometers from Estella, we parted ways and I sat down for a Coke at a bar. It was hot outside. It had to be close to 98 degrees and the next part of the route was up another mountain. I readied myself, fortified by the ice cold Coke and the desire to find where I would be staying for the night.
It was here in this cafe that I met the only other Filipino person I would see on the Camino during my entire time walking. She was a grandmother from California, the Bay Area, I believe. She was walking with a friend from Church and they dedicated their walk to the souls in purgatory. My walk was dedicated a little closer to home, with daily intentions for people on my list, but those in purgatory are good too.
She was old and it was hot, and her friend and I both worried she would not make it. She really reminded me of my aunt. We are probably related. United in Christ and in pilgrimage for sure.
So I walked with them up the mountain, looking back often and waiting, until finally they waved me on said “walk your own Camino.” That is part of the camino too. Every person has to walk their own. I passed two ancient Mozarabic arches, not too common for this part of the country, and a cool story I will not recount here is part of that monument. Some bikers happily passed me as I panted up the hill and took a rest in its shade.
Thoroughly exhausted and wishing I looked for an albergue in the last town (there wasn’t an albuerge there) I tiredly walked on in the heat. There was a lot of looking down at my feet as I was feeling the heat and climbing the path. When I did look up, I saw, jogging down the road, my young polish friend coming toward me.
“Aires, I came back to find you! We found an amazing albuerge in the next town and we asked if there was room for four more, and they said there were four beds left. I ran back to come find you, because you MUST stay with us!”
This young man reserved a place for me, and came back to find me. Together we walked the last part of the path into the town of Villamayor de Monjardin.
He wasn’t kidding. This was an amazing albuerge. Albergue Hogar de Monjardin is run by Dutch Christian volunteers. When I arrived, they warmly welcomed me and put out a seat for me. Not only that, they brought out foot bath so I could soak my feet. It was amazing. Pilgrims were sitting and sunbathing and chatting. It was an Oasis, full of hospitality and genuine love and care. I was so happy.
They had a dinner for the pilgrims that was home made and on my plate was rice! I hadn’t had rice since I left home, and this was such a welcome gift. I nearly wept again, in exhaustion and gratitude. Even the smallest details, the littlest things, resounded with meaning. I ate happily and genuinely enjoyed the company of the pilgrims staying together.
That night, they had a prayer service, where a missionary, who I believe was also Dutch, came to share a word and message. I came to the service but don’t remember if I fell asleep or was just in a waking dream. The day filled me. All of the little graces along the way murmured in my heart. I was at peace. I felt close to God.
That night, some pilgrims chose to run up the mountain to an ancient run down castle at the top. I opted out. I had enough walking for that day. I also made friends with two college students from Denmark who were on pilgrimage to Santiago. What bonded us together? All of us were playing Pokemon Go!
That night, after hand washing my clothes and saying my prayers, I laid my head down on my pillow and slept a restful sleep. It was a perfect Camino day.
