Days 68-70: Finding Patience on the Camino

Finding Patience on the Camino

Travel Days 68 – 70

March 6 – 8

Camino Day 2: Roncesvalles to Larrasoana

Daily distance: 27.1 km

Total distance: 52.7 km

I awoke with my alarm at 5:00 AM, meditated, did yoga, packed up my things, and was ready by 7:00 AM.  The only restaurant in town didn’t open until 8:00 AM, so I told Claudia that I would get breakfast in the next town; there was no point staying in Roncesvalles for an extra hour.  Getting started, parts of my body were sore, but it was nothing unbearable.  I was in no severe pain, and I knew that once my blood was flowing, much of the discomfort would subside.  On a positive note, my feet were no longer throbbing.  On a long hike like this, my body’s hierarchy of importance starts from the ground upwards. 

Yellow arrows painted everywhere indicate the Way.

Five minutes outside of Roncesvalles, I realized that I forgot my pilgrim’s staff and cursed out loud.  It was just a stick I found on the ground, but it had a pretty cool shape and was part of my “pilgrim’s garb” of a scallop shell, wide hat, and staff (the only thing missing was a cape, which wasn’t happening).  I knew that I was close enough to turn around and get it, but it was only slightly above freezing outside, and I was quite enjoying having both of my hands inside my pockets.  I shrugged it off and reasoned that I could find another stick along the way.  It’s not like I was planning to fly back to the United States with a six-foot-long stick in my carry-on baggage.  My credentials and shells, however, were definitely coming back with me.  Starting off, I was finally off the road and into the woods.  It rained last night, and I walked through the soggy, squishy, leaf-covered mud to the next town.  The morning cold helped to distract me from the pain that was beginning to take hold in my left ankle and knee. 

The forests after Roncesvalles were still damp from the rainfall.

I walked alone until I arrived in Zubiri.  The day was spent on my feet and in my head.  Inside of town, Claudia spotted me immediately, especially since I had found a new walking stick.  This one was purposely picked to be ridiculous: an eight-foot tree branch with leafs still attached.  It must have weighed 15 pounds.  The municipal albergue in town was closed, so we walked another six kilometers to the next town.  We set up in the albergue for the evening, and I ran to the nearby market (the only market in a town this small) to buy food for tomorrow and a bottle of wine for the night.  While shopping, my mind slowed down enough to notice that “L.A. Woman” by The Doors was playing on the radio.  I complimented the shop owner on his taste in music, and he thanked me by sitting me down at his bar for two free glasses of wine. 

Retelling this story to the other three pilgrims was made more humorous by the shop owner’s name: Angel.  It was like being in a scripted movie with important characters coming into play at the right time with their individual lessons to teach.  Halfway through the bottle of wine, I leaned towards Claudia, propped my elbow on the table, pointed a finger towards her and pronounced, “I’m starting to doubt that Michael actually existed.”

Claudia’s eyes opened first, then the words came out: “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I doubt he existed in the incarnate sense.”  Her eyebrows told me to continue.  “So get this: he shows up, has this statuesque ambiance, carries a book in a ‘language that we can’t understand,’ reveals two truths to us from said book, and then leaves without a trace of his existence.”  Yesterday, no one saw him pass them, and no one saw him anywhere near Roncesvalles.  “First, he tells us the three laws of the Camino, which I have found nothing about on the internet.  Second, he tells me I should be walking the Camino by myself, which is true.  It’s been great since I started walking alone.  And after that, he went on ahead, and was seen by no one else.  He just vanished!” 

Claudia interjected: “What if he did exist, but he was an angel?”  Now my eyebrows furrowed.  “Saint Michael, the Archangel.  Sent down from Heaven to reveal the Three Laws of the Camino, and then he ascends back up to Heaven, having done his work.”  She made a sign of the cross using her right hand, touching her forehead, then her chest, and her left and right shoulders.  We burst out laughing. 

And that is how Saint Michael got his trail name. 

Camino Day 3: Larrasoana to Pamplona

Daily distance: 14.7 km

Total distance: 67.4 km

It was another cold morning, just a couple degrees above freezing.  And while the rest of the albergue had plenty of heat, the front room where we had to leave our boots was the same temperature as the outdoors.  Stuffing my boots with newspaper last night helped absorb the water that snuck inside them, but the cold night stopped the water on the leather outside from evaporating, and thermodynamics are a blind prosecutor.  The unpleasantness subsided after the first kilometer. 

Church bells abound on the Camino.

The downhill slope steepened.  Here, the woods were thick, and the late-winter temperatures remained low, a combination that prevented the evaporation of two-week’s worth of rain.  I took slow, careful steps to avoid slipping and embarrassing myself in front of no one.

Walking the Camino is an exercise in patience.  Besides my eventual arrival in Santiago, which will not happen for another month, there’s nowhere to go along the way.  There’s nothing to see.  This is not to take away from the beauty and interest of the Camino itself; the French and Spanish country sides have been beautiful so far.  But there is no mountain to summit, there’s no climax of each day.  I walk a long distance each day and stop in the afternoon, when I am tired.  Even reaching an albergue for a night is merely a transition into a different type of Camino experience, one in which I am reunited with other pilgrims so we can bond over food and wine and the hardship of the Way.  Rushing the day’s walk has no utility; it just tires me out more, increases the chance of injury, and focuses my mind more on fatigue than reflection.  Therefore, there is no rush.  So I walk patiently. 

At least, I try to walk patiently.  But choosing to be patient isn’t like choosing what to have for dinner.  To satisfy the second law of the Camino, the law stating that I must give up a bad habit, I want to give up impatience.  Impatience is the source of suffering in many aspects of my life.  Because I am often impatient with people, I have treated them poorly in the past, especially if I don’t know them well.  Many times, when I meet strangers, I am impatient with them because the meeting was an unplanned meeting, and they are now stepping into my life and I am too impatient to be polite.  Even now, I find myself trying to hurry on the Camino, walking very quickly, even at the detriment to my own health.  My ankle and knee hurt, and yet I am still walking fast, as if getting to the next town in a timely manner would make my Camino any better.  So I am going to practice patience on the Camino.  I am going to take my time moving from town to town.

We crossed a medieval bridge at the edge of Pamplona.

Claudia is pretending to be religious.

To enter Pamplona proper, we had to cross a drawbridge and enter a massive gate.

Camino Day 4: Pamplona to Puente la Reina

Daily distance: 24.0 km

Total distance: 91.4 km

Traversing modern-day Pamplona by foot from north to south is an odd experience.  Yesterday, I made a transition from solitude and dirt roads to luxury shops, upscale bars, city busses, high-rise buildings, daily commutes, fancy restaurants, and five-star hotels.  And this morning, after two hours of walking, passing thousands of people along the way, I was by myself again.  Small gusts of wind rustled the tall grass, drowning the sound of my footsteps on the cobblestone path.  The morning fog had lifted, and the blue mountains were now visible in the distance to the west.  To the east, windmills stood spinning on a ridgeline high above the rolling hills of blue and green and yellow.  That’s where I was heading. 

I visited the citadel on my way out of Pamplona.

I climbed.  It wasn’t a difficult climb compared to many others I have done, but the difficulty was exacerbated by a sharp pain that was developing in my lower back.  I took many breaks on my way to the top of the El Perdón Mountains, doffing my pack, stretching, and trying some new adjustment to see if I could assuage the pain.  Nothing.  I trekked onward, approaching the windfarm near the peak. 

The clouds have been permanent so far.

Where the Camino crossed the ridgeline, the 360 degree panorama of the surrounding landscape more than justified an extended break.  After enough admiration, another pilgrim approached.  This is now his third time walking the Camino, so naturally I asked him about his previous experiences.  I steered the conversation back to the panorama, and he told me that the first week has the most spectacular views of the countryside.  I was grateful to have this experience, despite my back pain, and asked him to take a photo of me up there.  He laughed at my tourist tendencies. 

“You don’t get it yet.”  I glared at him to show my disapproval of his discourtesy.  He continued anyway.  “It’s not about the scenery.  It’s not about the hills.  It’s not about how hard you worked or how many calories you burned or how far you walked.  It’s about giving yourself the time to reflect on your life and decide which direction you want to take.  You’re not walking to Santiago; you’re walking towards your new future.  When you started this, you decided to give up a part of you, but you don’t know what it is yet.  And in return, you will gain something new of yourself that you never thought possible.”

But I wanted a picture, not a speech, so after he left, I took one of the foreground artwork with the countryside in the background. 

The sculptures at the peak of El Perdon ridgeline.

By the time I got to Muruzábal six kilometers later, I was ready for a break, an extended one.  One that involved a beer and some food without my boots or backpack on.  I still had five kilometers to tackle before reaching Puente la Reina, but the pain in my lower back had grown unbearable.  I walked into the only bar in town, their front doors wide open, but all excitement was crushed by the frustrated wave of a hand and one word: “Closed!”  Are you kidding me?  I walked outside and plopped down to the sidewalk, propping my back against the wall behind me.  I was starving.  I kicked my boots off and sat there exemplifying my inner homeless person.  When my pain subsided enough to saddle my belongings, I kept my eyes down and my mind off of everything.  I thought about how delicious food in Puente la Reina must taste after a day like this.