Days 83-85: You're Breaking up the Band, Yoko!

You’re Breaking up the Band, Yoko!

Travel Days 83 – 85

March 21 – 23

Camino Day 17: Carrión de los Condes to Calzadilla de la Cueza

Daily distance: 17.0 km

Total distance: 387.2 km

Distance to Santiago: 387.8 km

At 8:00 AM, Christian and I joined the Saint Mary’s Sisters for the morning prayer.  For twenty minutes, I didn’t understand anything being said; it was in another language.  But it didn’t matter, since what really mattered was the feeling of being there, of hearing Sister Elisabeth play a large stringed instrument while the others sang alternatively.  I was moved to just be there listening to it.

There is one place along the Camino where 18 kilometers divides two towns.  This wide open space exists between Carrion de los Condes and Calzadilla de la Cueza.  I walked this lonely road alone, meditating on my steps.  It was here that I found the pace at which I should be walking.  No hurry, no stress, just moving at the speed my body thinks is healthy. 

I finally caught up to Christian, Markus, and Matthew when I arrived at the bar/albergue in Calzadilla.  They were determined to get to the next town six kilometers away, but I told them I was staying there.  The remote location and soft rolling hills surrounding us spoke to me.  I spent the easiest day of the Camino in this peaceful place; no city sounds to break the serenity.  And the cook here was well above par, feeding me some the best meals on the Way. 

Markus is quick.

Today marks the halfway point between St. Jean Pied de Port and Santiago de Compostella. 

Camino Day 18: Calzadilla de la Cueza to Sahagún

Daily distance: 22.6 km

Total distance: 409.8 km

Today was the second day of dead winds and blue skies.  To the north, I could see mountains covered in snow from the horizon to their peaks.  And the windmills to the east turned slow enough to be confused for a standstill.  Solitude like this can drive a person mad, or bring out their inner songster.  Today, it was “Eight Days a Week” by the Beatles.  They’ve played on repeat on a few occasions, with my personal favorite day being “I am the Walrus”-Day. 

These tiny homes in the hillside were used to store wine.  They were built 500
years ago.

I rejoined the party at the Santa Cruz Monastery in Sahagún; we agreed to meet here yesterday.  Markus and Christian were settled into their bottom bunks of the four-bunk room, so I claimed the one above Markus.  I didn’t want to steal away Christian’s plans to share a bunk with Barbara, the Chilean girl he met previously on the Camino.  They walked the first week of the Camino together, and Christian told us about her and showed off pictures of them laying head-to-head in the grass.  Alas, the Camino plays no favorites; she was having issues with her Achilles tendon and had to spend some time healing.  Now, ten days later, she was arriving by train to Sahagún, and Christian was waiting open-armed to welcome her back. 

It’s a romance so cute that it makes me sick.  I would vomit if I didn’t need the calories.  Food is expensive in Europe. 

Drinking wine is justified by anything happening on the Camino: arriving to a town, climbing a mountain, eating dinner, taking a shower, not dying, gaining a new party member, etc. etc.  When Barbara and Christian arrived, we picked up two bottles from the grocery store, drank one in the monastery, and then decided we were hungry.  Hence, our moral dilemma arose: what to do with the second bottle of wine at the moment? 

I proclaimed: “You can bring your own wine into restaurants in Spain.”  This probably isn’t true, but the others had no way to verify otherwise.  Even if it isn’t true, it worked regardless, much to the surprise of everyone (naturally, they all thought I was making it up).  Our dinner was grand (as are all dinners in good company), but our time was running short; we needed to get back to the monastery if we wanted to make the 7:30 PM mass and the 8:00 PM pilgrim’s blessing.  The others went to mass, and I stayed back in the bunkroom to write.  I’ve never been to a mass before, and I want the Pilgrim’s Mass in Santiago de Compostella to be my first experience.  Just as I was getting in the MF zone, I noticed the time: I needed to go to the blessing!  I donned my sandals and flopped them down the cobblestone street to the chapel.  Just before I opened the door, I had a sudden and uncontrollable urge to do a handstand.  Now that I’ve been practicing them so much on the Camino, I use just about any occasion to justify doing one.  Especially after wine. 

I showed up late to the Pilgrim’s prayer.  “Steven, perfect timing.  We were just getting started.”  He was lying.  They were in the middle of it. 

“Sorry Father, I was doing a handstand.”  I don’t think he heard me.  We received the blessing, we were dismissed, and we celebrated this shared experience in classic Camino Pilgrim fashion: with wine! 

Camino Day 19: Sahagún to Mansilla de las Mulas

Daily distance: 36.8 km

Total distance: 446.6 km

With Barbara added to our group, we now had three paces between the four of us: Markus in front eager to get as far as possible before his flight on the 30^th, me in the middle adamant to maintain my balanced pace, and Christian and Barbara in the rear walking carefully to avoid agitating her previous injury.  We agreed to meet at the first bar or restaurant along the road in El Burgo Ranero, 17 kilometers away.  The road leaving Sahagún paralleled A-231, a major roadway leading to Leon.  The proximity to this roadway combined with the dull terrain and my solitude for the first four hours of the day necessitated that I turn inwards.  The best reflections come at times like this; there is nothing to distract my mind except for my mind. 

In El Burgo Ranero, Barbara said she could not continue to the next town, which was 13 kilometers away.  Naturally, Christian stayed back with her, and we made plans to meet back up in Leon.  I have been walking every day for the last twenty days, and I was due for a day off.  It was just a coincidence that this planned day off happened to fall on Palm Sunday, unofficially serving as the Sabbath day that we are supposed to be taking as pilgrims.  Markus, on the other hand, was determined to keep pushing towards his goal.  This was the last time he and Christian would see each other on the Camino.  It was strange to think that after nine days of us being together, the group was beginning to dissolve.  And with an Achilles tendon slowing down the pair of Barbara and Christian, I may have to continue to Santiago alone. 

I kept pace with Markus.  I needed a break from solitude, especially if I was going to go 36 kilometers today.  The combination of Markus’ fast pace, our conversation, and the more scenic terrain that diverged from the main road made those three hours fly by.  We arrived in Reliegos at 5:00 PM just as the winds were picking up.  We shared another hour over food and a bottle of wine before parting ways.  Markus’ feet told him to stop, so he stayed in Reliegos.  Although I was hurting, too, I wanted to avoid as much of tomorrow’s sideways rain and snow as possible by getting myself closer to León. 

A strong crosswind characterized the last six kilometers.  Exiting Reliegos marked the rejoining of the Camino with LE-6615, a two-lane highway.  I had to follow the highway over a river on a large concrete bridge.  The turbulence created by the crosswinds passing above and below my footing pushed my body from side-to-side and front-to-back.  I fought to keep my balance, first cringing my teeth, and then uncontrollably laughing.  Moments like this demand existence in the present, and it is only in the present that I truly feel alive. 

I arrived to Mansilla de las Mulas as the sun was setting and the rains were starting.  I was fortunate that the first albergue in town was also the cheapest and nicest.  I checked-in and joined three other pilgrims for drinks at the restaurant downstairs.  Back upstairs in the bunkroom, the winds howled, throwing rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows on the western wall of the albergue.  The whistling through the holes in the balcony doors were the only indicators of the power at the storm’s heart.  I placed the palm of my right hand flat against the window, feeling its vibration under the pulsations of windspeed.  It was cold to the touch.  I felt grateful to have this shelter to protect me from the elements, and grateful to have experienced in the past the torment that the elements can cause.