Days 95-97: The Blessing of Misery

The Blessing of Misery

Travel Days 95 – 97

April 2 – 4

Camino Day 28: Triacastela to Sarria

Daily distance: 18.3 km

Total distance: 659.6 km

Leaving Triacastela, the Camino followed a winding dirt path up a wooded hill.  Just outside of town, there was a rock sitting atop a trail marker with the word “Patience” written across it.  It was the universe’s reminder of what I am trying to practice on the Camino.  Although Santiago is only 130 kilometers away, and I can easily reach it in five days, I’m going to test my own patience by forcing myself to do it in six.  I’m often restless when I’m idle, another artifact of my impatience. 

The grounds were damp from last night’s rain, emitting plant aroma.  The forecast predicted rain from here to Santiago.  An hour outside of Triacastela, today’s rains began, and never stopped.  Because my boots have yet to completely dry, I haven’t had a chance to glue the new holes shut.  As the ground grew softer, my boots sunk into the earth, and I was reunited with the familiar sensation of wet feet.  There is a reason Galicia is called the “Bathtub of Spain.”  I sloshed my feet up and down hills, carefully choosing my footing to avoid slipping on the smooth rocks embedded in the mud.  But even the best of care is subject to stochastic misfortune.  On one steep downhill slope, just as I shifted weight onto my left foot, the soft mud beneath my boot slipped across the large rock it was covering.  I reached out with my left walking stick to brace my fall.  Although I avoided a serious fall, an audible snap meant my stick was now broken.  It was useless, and it no longer made sense to carry it. 

These rocks are embedded in the trail, covered in leaves and mud.

When I finished the descent, I found a nearby open field, stabbed the stick into the ground, and stared at it for a moment.  For an inanimate object that I found on the ground, it became special over time.  It proved its worth: keeping cadence for me to sing during bouts of boredom, helping to correct my posture, making hills easier, enduring the snide remarks of pilgrims with fancy walking sticks (“yes, they are just sticks”), and working through mud and snow.  After 450 kilometers, the stalk proved its worth.  And I’m sure if it could think for itself, it would have been happy to migrate so far; it is now the most unique branch out here. 

I stopped missing my second walking stick once I realized how much easier it was to hold my umbrella with only the bamboo in my other hand.  I could actually walk with it again rather than just carrying them both.  So much for sentiment.

The trail flattens out again.

The rain here in Galicia is somewhat pleasant.  Previously, I had to deal with sideways rain and freezing temperatures, but at 10⁰C (50⁰F), being wet wasn’t the end of the world.  The rain pattered on the top of my umbrella the way it does on a tin roof; it reminded me of the rain in Iraq.  I squished my way all the way to Sarria.  Upon arrival, it became immediately apparent that this is where most people begin their Camino pilgrimage.  There was an abundance of albergues, restaurants with pilgrim’s menus, and outdoor supply stores.  Scallop shells were in high supply, both from vendors and as Camino markers.  With one placed every 10-15 feet, it was impossible to get lost in town.  The Catholic Church requires that pilgrims walk at least 100 kilometers to Santiago in order to receive a Compostela, the certificate verifying completion of the Camino.  And Sarria happens to be 111 kilometers from Santiago.

I met up with Dale and Cladia at a secluded and mostly empty albergue at the end of town.  Easter dinner was sponsored by Dale that night; he has a life philosophy of sharing good food and good drinks with good company.  Sharing his fine wines and cheeses with us, he only asked that we enjoy the meal, as that would serve as repayment enough.  Given the holiday, Dale asked us if we would allow him to give us communion, to which we delightfully agreed.  As the senior pastor at his church in Alabama, Dale made the dinner more special by bestowing his blessing upon it.  Before giving us communion, he guided us through his philosophy on the sacramental progression:

“When Jesus was with his disciples, just before his crucifixion, he takes the bread in his hands, gives thanks, breaks the bread, and then gives it to his disciples.  So in order to live Jesus’ actions in our own lives, we should also follow the Sacramental Progression.  First, we take what life gives us, the good and the bad.  Then, we give thanks for those things, even the ones that are hard to be thankful for, not always understanding why we are thankful, but recognizing that every situation received is a gift to us.  Next, we break it open, where we look at it and analyze it and assess what is there for me that will help me become the person God wants me to be.  And it is important to recognize that whatever God gives us in life is to make our lives better, not to diminish us.  Lastly, once we have accepted what God has given us and investigated it for what it can teach us, we share this with others through our own behavior. So, we take, we thank, we break, and we share.”

Then Dale offered us communion, the first one I have received in over a decade.  He broke the bread into thirds, poured us each a glass of wine, and recited the Epiclesis: “We invite the Holy Spirit to be present in this bread and this wine, so as we take this into our bodies, we become the body of Christ for the world, redeemed by his blood.”

It wasn’t just the quality of the cheese and the wine that made this meal the most memorable of the Camino. 

Camino Day 29: Sarria to Portomarin

Daily distance: 22.4 km

Total distance: 682.0 km

The rains were light for most of the morning, and I made good progress.  Besides the slight discomfort on my outer right foot that I’ve had for the last five days, the rest of me felt good enough to continue to Portomarín without stopping.  But from past experience, I knew that making a 22 kilometer stretch with no breaks was a bad idea.  With Ferreiros at the 13 kilometer mark, it made it perfect for a midpoint break.  But about 500 meters before arriving at the only café in Ferreiros, the slight discomfort on my outer right foot exploded into sharp, burning pain.  I cursed out loud, stopping dead in my tracks.  I hobbled forward, inching my way in baby steps, leaning on my walking stick like a crutch. 

I sat in the café for two-and-a-half hours, icing, stretching, and massaging my foot.  I found a small spot that caused the pain, but only if I applied pressure and moved my toes.  As a quick-fix, I left my right boot completely unlaced and continued on the Camino.  I walked slowly at first, and things seemed copacetic.  But the moment picked up the pace, the pain returned in full force.  I cursed out loud again, swinging my walking stick in a fit of anger at a tree branch, breaking it in half.  I heard an audible crack from the palm of my hand, and opening my fist revealed that the bamboo shattered in two.  Great.  Two broken walking sticks in a row.  I reasoned that I could repair this one; I put the short end in my pocket and carried the long end in my free hand, still holding my umbrella overhead.  I slowly marched through the woods in the rain.  For the next four kilometers, there were only intermittent bursts of pain to manage. 

Just outside of the cafe in Ferreiros, I passed the 100
kilometer marker.  I hope that I can find a solution to
my foot pain that lasts 100 kilometers.

But then I remembered what Dale said last night: take, thank, break, and share.  In the end, I knew this would all just be a funny story.  I calmed down again.  The universe realized it wasn’t getting the best of me, so as I was crossing the bridge into Portomarín, a strong gust of wind contorted my umbrella.  I reached out to brace it, but I was too late, and one of the supports broke.  I collapsed the umbrella to prevent further damage and stared at it flapping in the wind.  The rain pelted me in the side of the head.  I let out a sigh and kept walking.  Thanks Obama.

Don't worry, the day always gets better. At this Donativo, they hand out free
hugs.  It was just what I needed to even out the day.

Camino Day 30: Portomarin to Palas de Rei

Daily distance: 25.0 km

Total distance: 707 km

In light of everything breaking yesterday (my walking stick, my umbrella, my foot), today begged intrigue: will any of my fixes concocted last night actually work?  On my umbrella, the break was clean.  One of the support braces snapped in half, but it still did its job if I balanced it just right, like a game of stacking rocks.  So I superglued the rocks together and hoped for the best.  On my walking stick, the break in the bamboo was relatively clean, too.  Although jagged and irregular at the seam of the break, there were no stray splinters.  So I just superglued both sides back together and wrapped the whole area in duct tape (yes, I do have an engineering degree).  My foot was a little more challenging.  On closer inspection, I found that the tendon attached to the muscle that raises my small toe on my right foot was inflamed.  Because tendons work like a string being pulled through a tube, squeezing the tube can cause irritation and inflammation.  As my feet have swollen during the Camino, this tendon was pushed against one of my boot’s eyelids, getting more irritated over the last five days until it exploded into 10-out-of-10 pain yesterday.  Not an easy problem to solve, even with superglue and duct tape. 

To keep my boots from causing more pain, I chose not to wear them today.  So today, I chose to walk 25 kilometers on the Camino in sandals.  In the rain.  Through mud.  Uphill.  And because I severely dislike the feeling of wet pants bottoms sticking to my shins, I changed into shorts as well.  Walking out of the albergue while wearing my sandals and shorts, carrying my broken bamboo stick, and holding a broken umbrella overhead, I imagine that in the eyes of other pilgrims I must have looked very, um, unique.  I’m sure it doesn’t help that my calves have large tattoos on the backs of them. 

Leaving the pavement outside of town and beginning the dirt road trek, for the first time in my life I experienced the unique feeling of liquid mud squeezing between my feet and sandals, surrounding my toes with its cold grip.  I frowned with pursed lips: this was going to be a long day.  Four kilometers into the day, my toes were beginning to lose feeling.  The parts of my foot that could still feel pain were triggered when a new rock or stick would lodge itself between my sandal and foot.  I stopped frequently to pick these out, afterward reluctantly placing my cold foot back to the cold earth.  There were many small rocks that I couldn’t pick out with my fingers, so I just walked on them.  There came a part on the Camino where the road was literally a river, and it was a relief to walk through it.  All of the grime and rocks were washed away from my feet.  But as I took my first few steps from the river, the air felt much colder.  Eventually, I reached Gonzar, eight kilometers from Portomarin. 

I had enough.  I was done wearing sandals.  Even if my boots were going to cause pain, it was worth it to keep my feet somewhat warm.  The edges of my toes were noticeably blue, and I sat in a café for an hour until they were completely dry and warm.  Socks never felt so good.  

I marched forward, halfway dragging my feet on the ground, boots already soaked from the pouring rain.  I was grateful to have the physical ability and mental strength to continue onward.