The morning albergue-breakfast
rush was punctuated by a couple of oddities I hadn’t experience on the Camino
just yet. First, the common breakfast
was anxiously moderated by one of the hospitaleros, a small, nervous older man
who kept running about, moving plates, in a veritable panic that one of the
hungry pilgrims might take one too many pieces of crusty toast or an extra pad
of butter. It set me off and so I
slammed my breakfast down in haste, eager to get on the road.
Strange Thing Number Two I was
only witness to second-hand: Susannah and Linde come out of their room
downstairs clearly terrified and when they told me what happened, I was
shocked. The night before, sometime
after I’d left off chatting with the ladies and headed upstairs to my room,
probably as I’d blocked out my roommates’ silly chatter with earplugs, the
girls were first harassed and then threatened by that same hospitalero who’d
annoyed me at breakfast.
The story, as best I can retell
it, went something like this: The hospitalero was a pilgrim himself who’d run
out of money and was working at the albergue to be able to continue on his
pilgrimage. He was staying in their room
and expected the lights to be out 15 minutes before official ‘lights out’ time
at 10pm. There was some sort of multi-lingual
power struggle with lights being flipped on, and off, then back on, with the
hospitalero finally posting himself as guard over the light. However it worked out, the result was that
the ladies spent a night genuinely concerned about this guy’s stability.
Leaving Fromista and heading
toward the roadside senda path was
beautiful; there was a blue and orange sunrise behind us and Susannah captured
one of mine and Linde’s early morning Literature Lecture Series:
I also had a feeling at the time
that this would be the last of my pure Musketeer moments – as the midday sun
warmed us along the roadside, river, and greening farmland on the way to
Villacazar de Sirga, all of us stretched out in different groups of pilgrims at
different paces – sometimes looking for more quiet time, or chatting up new
acquaintances, or returning to encourage our old friends. Jari and I walked together for a while
talking about the need to commit to ‘your own Camino’ – for both of us this
would mean eventually saying goodbye to our group. This was the last day I’d see Jari, not at
the end of our conversation when she pushed on ahead as I expected, but an hour
or so later at the church Virgen del Rio for an impromptu lunch and tour. Her words were exactly what I needed at that
moment, to remember that although I loved being in a group, there would come a
time when I’d need to once again venture out on my own in search of those
answers and experiences that had brought me to Spain in the first place. Moreover, to hear from someone else that I
wasn’t just allowed to make the Camino my own, but obliged to do so.
The church at Virgen del Rio was a
welcoming, albeit isolated, sight as the path turns left away from the river
and makes to follow a small paved road into Villacazar; I had hoped it would be
open as I joined several pilgrims for a lunchtime snack, but it wasn’t. The courtyard quickly collected Jari, Linde,
Susannah, and I as well as several others, and right as I was packing my things
to move on a man came up in a Peugeot to open the church for us to see inside. It’s a mystery who notified him we were
there, but it’s yet another example of the communities reaching out to make us
pilgrims welcome even when it wasn’t convenient. Jari and I spent time looking at the artwork
inside – there was a distinct presence of both St. Michael and St. James
Matamoros imagery, heavily featuring swords, which Jari was drawn to.
Shortly thereafter, Linde,
Susannah, and I came into Villacazar minutes before the midday mass at Santa
Maria la Blanca XIII; the town itself was once a Templar outpost and the church
was massive and majestic. There was an
enormous sculpted depiction of St. James’ life inside, and the mass inside this
Templar church held an air and weight
of history that gave me goosebumps. For
an unrepentant history geek, the idea of taking communion in front of the same
altar as Templars holds a real sense of import and privilege.
Carrion de los Condes immediately recommended itself – the central
square providing ample space and greenery for pilgrims lounging in the sun, a
fancy hostel us three decided to share randomly pairing us with my friend
Monica from Brazil (I’d first met her in Granon and then again in Navarette as
we commiserated over blisters), and a bar selling giant, delicious
Magnums.
Put three worn-out pilgrims into a
room with a private shower, with unlimited hot water, and only 4 people to a
room and you’ll witness some real gratitude.
I was giddy.
Monica and I met up to go to the
pilgrim’s mass at 7 – yet another example of a beautiful service in a quiet,
dark, and welcoming medieval church with a blessing afterwards. I ended up standing next to a blonde woman
with bright eyes and an easy smile named Allegra from New York.
Full disclosure warning: One of my
prayers before leaving for Spain was that I wouldn’t get drawn into any Camino
romances, or be torn by attraction to other pilgrims, or really spend any time
at all thinking about that. Up until meeting Allegra, and maybe for the
first time in my adult life, I hadn’t thought about sex or romance at all – I’d
been happy in my platonic relationships and full of the joy of faith, and so it
didn’t ever rise to the surface.
So when I immediately felt this pull (of eyes, of how quickly she came over
to introduce herself after the mass, of the held hands during the ‘Our Father’),
I was deeply worried.
As the crowd left the church and
Monica and I found Linde and Susannah outside with the intention of finding
dinner, I was acutely aware of Allegra falling in beside us. Thankfully, our group quickly erupted into
chaos trying to sort out where and how we’d find some food and Allegra slipped
off elsewhere. I remember thinking it
was probably a blessing in disguise. I
know myself pretty well, and I know how much I want the romance and the chase…
and I know full well how terrible I am at discerning which people are good for
me or have good intentions.
Dinner plans somehow go awry and
the places we investigate are either not serving until much later, or
unappealing, or too expensive. Somehow
Monica and I end up finding a Waffle House-style greasy spoon through the back
of a smoky bar where men are crowded around several TVs watching a soccer game;
as soon as we walked through the back doors we were suddenly in Fun Family Town. The plates are heaped with food and hearty
and warm, and the beer comes in a tall cold glass, so I have no complaints at
all.
Monica tells me her story, about
her two children and husband back home in Rio de Janeiro and her job in IT, and
I’m guardedly grateful that I am sitting there listening to her without
expectations or need, rather than wrapping myself up in knots over a
(beautiful, energetic, bright) woman
from Manhattan.
I’ll take that as a smart choice
for the evening, and we’ll let the curtains close here.
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