The Peregrina Returns

Yeah...so I walked the Camino de Santiago. Please excuse the delay in this edition of my Blog, but I was busy. Well, okay, not really, but whatever I have been up to seems to have taken up all of my time.

So, let me take this opportunity, NOW, to say, "Yeah Me! I did it! Yay me!!!"

My Camino was a magical experience even in those times it REALLY didn't feel like it. Like within an hour of my arrival in Madrid, for example. I taxied into the airport looking around with the wonder of a child at what Spain looked like. I was very excited and proud of myself for managing my first attempt at travel in Spain by taking a local bus to the Madrid Bus Station, where I was then to grab a bus for Pamplona. From there I would find my way to my starting point...Roncesvalles.

I figured out my second thing to master in Spain would be an ATM, so I found one and tried to take out 100 Euros. It coughed and coughed and I sat there with my extended hand hovering at the money slot...to no avail. I freaked-out thinking I had just lost 100 Euros (About $150 CDN) in my first hour in Spain.

I raced over to a bank of telephones and realized my next challenge. I had no idea how to call my country from Spain. I looked down and saw a sticker, in English, telling me to dial 1-900 Something-Or-Other if I needed to call Canada. I had just bought a phone card at the airport, but the operator refused to let me use it. Instead he had to have a credit card number, so I gave him one. After a convoluted game of Telephone Tennis, I finally got through to my bank. The nice gent on the phone told me I had nothing to worry about as there was no record of my account being debited. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, hung up the phone and reached down to pick up my carry-on bag. It was gone.

I panicked.

I ran all over the bus station trying to find anyone with it or even stuff tossed out of it that the thief wouldn't want. I went over to the Information Booth and asked "Habla Inglis?" She shook her head. I did my best charade commentary on what I thought had happened. She looked pitifully at the pained, desperate look on my face and we stood there like two brick workers on the Tower of Babel, both wishing we could bridge the gap.

I ran over to two other places to report my bag's disappearance. The results were the same. No habla Inglis. It took me some time to admit to myself that it was gone and there was nothing I could do to erase the last 15 minutes.

I started to cry. I felt like a child in a foreign country with no one to look out for her. I was lost. I was scared. I wanted to go home.

Oh? You want to know what was in my bag?

1. My expensive digital camera bought for this trip


2. My sleeping bag -- an absolutely essential item for this journey


3. My girlfriend's MP3 Player


4. My Camino Coach's waterproof backpack cover


5. My hat with the Canadian Company of Pilgrims crest my gf so lovingly sewed on --twice--because she wasn't satisfied the first time


6. My gf's scallop shell ( A pilgrim "must") from PEI -- a place with a lot of emotional ties for her


7. My Camino guide book with yellow sticky notes painstakingly placed throughout, by my Coach -- full of advice and encouragement


8. My Spanish phrase book. Need I say more about that one?


9. The most important thing of all: A card from the beautiful aforementioned girlfriend she had surreptitiously placed in my bag before I boarded the plane. You see, I have this habit of mocking her for being somewhat romance challenged. Well, okay, for being a complete lunkhead in that arena. She texted me after she left the airport and told me to look in my bag. I found the card, opened it and cried. And cried. It was the most beautiful, supportive, encouraging and romantic -- yes, romantic -- card I had ever received. I texted her saying I take back everything I ever said.

So, please understand why I wanted to know who stole my bag so I could scream, "Keep the stuff of monetary value, you fucking fucker! Fuck! JUST GIVE ME BACK THE FUCKING CARD!!!!" (Editor's Note: She has said she will give me another card -- if I go away again for another seven weeks! Love the girl! Really I do!)

Oh, and that phone call? Cost over $50 CDN. I was robbed twice that day!

Then, of course there was the loneliest night of my entire life. Yes, even lonelier than the Lost at the Madrid Bus Station Experience. I had been pushing myself past the point of exhaustion...I couldn't even regulate my body temperature and I was freezing on very hot days. I had developed some kind of stomach thing which caused serious cramping and many rather hasty trips to the bathroom. I was sitting in an albergue surrounded by people who spoke Spanish and Portuguese, but knew very little English. I, of course, had already proven my lack of Spanish verbosity at the bus station in Madrid and I sat there, trying to eat while intermittently bursting into tears and running to the bathroom. I was terribly homesick. I was definitely stomach sick. I missed my girlfriend terribly. I missed my country. I missed my language. I missed the familiar. I wasn't sure I could walk another step.

I got up the next day knowing I was not walking that day. I was taking a bus to Burgos and I was going to care about myself enough to stay there a couple of days until I felt better. I wandered down to the bar downstairs and looked at a map explaining how to walk to another town, off the Camino and grab a bus. I looked at it. I studied it and I headed off. In the wrong direction. I got really pissed off at myself for not being endowed with any sense of direction whatsoever. I walked back to the albergue passing some Aussies I knew who told me some of their group were staying back and taking a taxi to Burgos as they were sick and tired, too.

I hobbled back and finally located them. Their taxi was full. There was no room for me. I burst into tears and they did their best to encourage me and commiserate. I set off again to find the stupid town with the stupid bus, telling myself I didn't need my Spanish-speaking friend (another story entirely, but we had to part company that day) to get by in Spain. I could rely on myself and I could find this freaking town and I would get on this bus and I would do it on my own!

I got lost. Again.

This time I was screaming and crying in farmer's field in the middle of Nowhere, Spain, going: "Who the fuck do I think I am kidding?! What in Hell's name made me think I could do this?! WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE???!!! TO PROVE TO MYSELF I AM COMPLETELY INEPT AND CAN'T FINISH ANYTHING I START????!!!!" And other such self encouraging thoughts and frustrations.

I must borrow one of my favorite cliches here: It is always darkest before the dawn. I found the bus. I found some English speaking company, with an Irish slant, who I would share a room with in Burgos for a couple of days.

I got to Burgos, took a shower and went to sit on a patio and drink vino blanco. While there, I ran into one of my favorite Camino people, Gerry from Ireland, who sat down and told me about all the magical things he was experiencing and the wonderful people he was running into at all the right times. I realized he was the guy I needed to run into that day. He, too, had pushed himself to the point of exhaustion and I had helped cheer him up earlier on on the Path. And here he was doing the same for me now. I didn't run into him after that, but I would love an opportunity to thank him for being one of my Camino Angels (and there were many). Gerry from Ireland changed my Camino from that point onward. All of a sudden, I was looking for the magic that I hadn't been able to see because I was so focused on my pain, exhaustion and frustration. All of a sudden the Camino was a beautiful place with beautiful people and the Magic I had come to expect of it. It was there all the time, I just couldn't see it. Thank you Gerry. I owe you a debt, my friend, wherever you are.

So, after a couple of days of rest and sightseeing, I felt brand new. I adjusted my walking schedule, refusing to keep up with anyone else and went only as far as I felt I could. As someone not used to doing things for me and generally acquiescing to what other people need and want, I had finally learned a lesson.

I met some amazing people along the way. One, whom I will never forget, was a young woman from Edmonton I was very excited to run into, because, of course, she was Canadian and I used to live in Edmonton. I rapped with her a while and just happened to look down at her legs and realized one of them was plastic. She was doing a 780 Kilometre walk (she started in the mountains from St Jean Pied a Port) across some of the roughest terrain I have ever walked on. Some of the most gut splitting mountains I have ever climbed. And she was doing it on one leg. I was humbled. Annika was her name and she was one of the few people I walked with that I didn't witness walking into Santiago, because of the difference in our travel speed. But somehow, I know she made it.

I walked for about a week and half with a guy from Brazil who looked out for me and really kept me going. Wagner was a very heavy guy who had been in a serious motorcycle crash that had done major damage to his body, evidenced by the remaining deep gash in his leg. He pushed me along, sometimes too hard, but he got me through some pretty tough stuff. We shared about 8 words between us which made for some very comically funny exchanges and a few misunderstandings. On some days it was actually a really good thing he couldn't understand me as what I had to share was not fit for human consumption. I thought of him as another of my Camino Angels...he thought of me as his.

I met a crazy young Aussie who had been living as an illegal in Scotland and decided he was doing the Camino with his parents and some friends, while wearing a kilt, with a guitar strapped to his back and wheeling a golf cart carrying his stuff. He made it to Santiago. The Golf cart didn't.

I met some wonderful Americans who I initially shrugged off as American Republican Catholics...until they taught me another valuable lesson about assumptions. None of them were Catholic, one went to a New Age Religious Science church and another was a Sufi meditation teacher. Yes, a Sufi meditation teacher. I spent the last part of the Camino with these people, Norm, Porter, Sue, Ruth and occasionally Francesca. We all travelled to Finisterre together, drank champagne and celebrated our completion of this amazing journey. We talked for hours about spiritual issues and lessons learned.

One night we were in a restaurant with two women from Holland and the question was asked, "What have you learned from the Camino?" I was surprised to note that we had all learned the same lesson. One of the women from Holland said it best: "I was walking over the mountains in Rabanal and I saw some rocks (the white quartz very common in this area). The the sun came up and the same rocks looked like diamonds. I realized it was my choice. I could see them as rocks or I could see them as diamonds."

That was the major lesson for me, but there were many others, like dealing with attachment to people, places and things. On how I was fine before them and only upset after them, because of my attachment to them. Or the importance of living in the now and how having sore feet makes sure you are!

I tell people I didn't really learn any new lessons...I just experienced lessons I already knew on an intellectual level, but needed to experience myself to fully understand. I also did things, like climbing mountains I didn't know I could master. The pudgy middle-aged kid from the prairies managed in a country where she did not speak the language, a million miles away from home and she did it by herself.

Well, that's not exactly true.

I had an amazing support group back home consisting of my girlfriend who pushed my ass up mountains and my Camino Coach who pulled my ass up mountains. Without them I would not be here writing this note of success. To you guys...I owe an incredible debt of gratitude. And everybody on my email list who sent me messages of support and encouragement, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I had many peak experiences like walking through a cloud on Rabanal. Or like soaking my feet in an ice cold mountain stream. Or encountering people who live their whole lives to support the pilgrims, the peregrinos of the Camino de Santiago. I shared the road, laughter and tears with people from all over the world. I also shared their stories, dreams, pain and glory. I climbed O Cebreiro, a climb described in the guidebook as daunting and very difficult. I did. Me.

I walked into Santiago on October 6th and was handed my compostela proving I indeed did this incredible thing. Some days it all seems like a dream to me, now. I still have some blister residuals and some foot and right wrist issues that I would like to lose, but right now they are a good reminder that I accomplished a feat I would never have known I could.

Yay me!