Today we all set out together – Mac and Nance and R & M and Barbara & Marli. We had discussed our plans to get to Zubiri the previous night with R & M when they tell us that strong-willed Barbara has been trying to steer the exit time and destination and pace etc. and that they are getting a little weary of being pushed around. Nance and I carefully avoid looking at each other because we both know without need for discussion that B needs a flock to shepherd – preferably with a stout birch and piercing whistle. It is late when we set forth – past 9 am and we see a huge sign saying 790 kms to Santiago. We are more than a little puzzled – this is supposed to be the total distance from St Jean Pied De Port to Santiago and we are wondering what happened to the 27.5 kms already walked – the long achy arduous ascent up the Pyrenees and the knee-killing distressing descent downhill – it’s like a bad dream that got swallowed up by the night with nothing to show for it but the screaming pain that accompanies every step today. We immediately decide that there are Camino distances for the flying crow, the zipping cars and those covered by the plodding pilgrims and that we will never know until we reach our destination which of these the signs indicate.
It is another super hot 94 degree day and the woodsy paths help shield us from the Sun but it is still suffocatingly warm. There are beautiful wildflowers to distract
us from the sweat and the tears and bushes brimming with blackberries – the ripest of them looking like shiny caviar clinging together in tight bunches – glistening and beckoning us to stop every few steps and grab a handful. Someone has taken the time to assemble a huge arrow using some of the thousands of scattered pine cones and we stop and admire it for a few extra seconds before moving on. Unbidden as she always does – ma pops into my head and I think of how much she would have loved these sweet tart juicy berries. I slip into a fantasy where she is still waiting for me at home and I am calling her every day to recount my adventures. However that fantasy lasts but a few seconds as the reality of her forever-absence strikes me again with its harsh coldness and the tears that are always poised to flow stream down my face mingling with the sweat. I always both dread and welcome these grieving spells – dread because I know how much they shake me up and fill me with a deep
longing for ma and the wish that I could somehow turn the clock back – even if it is just for one day – where I rest her head on my lap and stroke her sparse grey hair and talk to her and tell her how very much I love her and how sorry I am for all the grief I have ever caused her – just another chance however brief I beg the open skies – to right my wrongs one last time – so I can move on without guilt and regrets. I welcome the aftermath – where my tears have been drained and my heaving shaking sobs have seemingly heaved the grief out of my system for the time being. Until the next spell, ma will be walking beside me, inside my head my heart my soul – without the turbulence of the violent sadness that shakes my core once the tears have been replenished and the yearning for her presence comes crowding back.
I fall into conversation with “Dave from Ireland” who is on the Camino for the one week he has been able to take off. He lives in London and works as a teacher. He is on the Camino to “sort things out inside his head”. Of all the reasons for walking the Camino this takes the prize-winning first place and clings steadfastly to its unanimous tribute for the rest of my long walk. Barbara has monopolized M and R looks miffed. He hasn’t shaken off his miffedness even after Barbara says that she is not feeling well and is feeling too weak to walk fast. M is ever chivalrous and slows down his pace to walk beside her but R is striding long strides stabbing the fast moving blurry ground with his hiking poles and looking frowny and furious. He tells me that he and M are here for some “together time” after being through a rough six months of losing their dog and dealing with a wicked boss and a nasty neighbour etc. etc. and it’s just not right for anyone else to impose on their time NO MATTER WHAT!!! I am a little startled by the strength of his emotions and try to reason with him about B not having any control over her (temporary ??) sickness but R is revelling in the raging comfort of his anger so I let him be. Meanwhile Mac and Dave have recognized an Irish kindredness in each other and are deep in conversation about politics and Trump and I move far away so I don’t have to hear the one name that throws me into a swirly hissy fit every time I hear it.
We cross the bridge La Rabia to enter into Zubiri – the bridge is reputed to cure rabies in animals and I marvel at the simplicity of some beliefs. David is pre-booked into another albergue further along that he says is where Martin Sheen stops in “The Way” when he is trying to shake off “Joost from Amsterdam”. On the recommendation of another peregrina I had met back in VA before leaving for the Camino, we are headed to an albergue called Suseia that promises to have excellent vegetarian food. Mac and I walk into town – the others are presumably behind us. We debate getting to the albergue first to shrug off our packs but a bar on the way stops us dead in our tracks with the perfectly chilled cañas (smallest size of beer on tap) that we see a group of bikers downing in big gulps. We have guzzled our way through three quick cañas each in rapid succession when we see the first of our group – Nance – straggling in. Soon M & R are within hailing distance – apparently B couldn’t walk the rest of the way to Suseia and has decided to stop at the very first albergue in town. We are all more than a little relieved – drama at the end of a long day is wearisome and not as tolerable as at other times.
We meet many other pilgrims here – a young couple from Israel, a couple of couples from Valencia, strikingly machismo looking biker – Raul from Madrid, Stella and Dawn (S & D) and to our delight – the German couple we had shared the room with at Orisson. The Germans are Tomas and Christina and they immediately request a pre-dinner yoga session. They make the request half in jest but R quickly herds everyone into the small lawn in the albergue courtyard and starts with his stretches – thankfully this is before the meal so there are no windy warnings to startle the yogis. The Israeli couple demo their own stretches and since theirs is backed by the Israeli Army, some of us defect and behind R’s back quietly do the Army stretches and I feel stronger and mightier instantly. There is much laughter and banter and a sense of contentment fills me as I lie on the grass and ponder at this wondrous ability of complete strangers to come together with such ease and companionship.
Dinner is as sensational and gourmet as the raised expectations expect. The ubiquitous gazpacho is served first – one obviously a cut above the usual in its richness and smooth creaminess – with crusty bread for dunking; followed by seaweed and chickpea patties – given that seaweed is reputed to be the “new kale” and is touted to have many healthful vitamins and minerals it goes straight to my suggestible head along with the wine and I feel dizzily delighted at all the goodness that I am ingesting; dessert is green tomato and ginger mermalada swirled into yogurt – cleansingly cool and refreshing and the piece de resistance to send us all into a satiated stupor – home made dark chocolate. I am usually not a dark chocolate fan – but there’s magic in the air – animated conversation at the table – friendly faces all around and the endless wine that pairs perfectly with it. One by one we take turns to use the 2 bathrooms that we all are sharing and lazily make our way to our beds to snuggle under the warm blankets. I can still hear chatter from the late-night peregrinos in the dining room below and the muted murmur is like a lullaby that soon lulls and soothes and floats me ever so gently into sleep.
