Day 18: Santo Domingo De Calzada - Belorado (4/18/14)

Good Friday

"Not a bad walk today" - 

per my journal.

Actually, 

I think I just stopped writing as much about my pain

 because when I popped into a church along the way yesterday 

to reflect,

Mary looked pissed.

Was that just my imagination?

I figured she was tired of hearing me mutter "Madre de Dios" 

every time I spied another mountain to clamber up.

Maybe I was being overly sensitive.

(Is that a symptom of substance abuse?)

Anyway, I concentrated on beauty

and congratulated myself on being smart enough to walk in the spring 

and not summer.

I honestly don't know how pilgrims walk the Camino in the heat of a Mediterranean summer 

without lovely floral things to distract them 

before they pass out. 

We witnessed a Stations of the Cross procession

at lunchtime

in Viloria de Rioja

and then walked quietly on.

(South Dakota - I'm tellin' ya!)

Our destination for the night was Belorado -

unfortunately it was apparently everyone else's destination too.

We had noticed an increase in the number of pilgrims on the Camino during Holy Week 

but hadn't been impacted by it too much - 

beyond seeing new faces and hearing more "Buen Camino"s being exchanged

 than were completely necessary.

Seems that, for some Spanish families, 

its part of their Lenten observance to walk segments of the Camino. 

For others, because its a long holiday weekend, 

many people gather at the nearest large town to see the traditional Good Friday processions.

Not knowing either of these things, 

we had no idea that rooms would be at a premium.

'Completo' was the answer to all our inquiries 

at all the albergues!

Finally, as we walked around the town in tears, 

thinking we'd be forced to take up residence in the local storks nests 

(how charming are they, right?),

some inn keeper 

(I kid you not)

took pity on us and found us a room.

True it was probably more than we'd have paid during a 'normal' weekend,

but it was a roof over our heads, a shower and a bed.

We were nothing but grateful.

The Good Friday procession that night was remarkable -

even if alien and beyond my comprehension.

(Since I've been back, 

I've actually Googled about the hooded robes participants wore 

and only have found some confusing and contradictory information. 

Apparently, they're still referred to as 'Flagellants' - 

and I can only imagine what nut jobs I'll attract to the blog by using that phrase!)

When we asked people about them that evening, 

we were told they were members of ancient religious 'societies',

each with their own function in the Lenten observances. 

Historically, members of the 'orders' performed acts of repentance 

and confessed their sins in public. 

The hoods were intended to protect their identities, 

since members lived in small towns and everyone knew everyone else, 

and to prevent people from being known only for the worst things they'd done. 

While the hoods used by the societies in Belorado were not as pointed,

participants in processions in other locales are decidedly so.

 

All I know is because the KKK adopted the same costume in this country 

to protect their identities for far different reasons, 

there wasn't an American in the crowd 

who didn't gasp and feel uneasy to see a whole parade of these folks.

I was also surprised at my reaction to seeing Christ's body carried in a glass coffin.

On a daily basis, as I visited churches all over Spain, 

I'd seen him nailed to a cross...

but this was jarring.

As I said, just very alien, for me -

although it certainly gave me a lot to think about while walking the next day.

Day 17: Azofra - Santa Domingo De Calzada (4/17/14)

It was very early when we left the land that time forgot

and, probably because I still had a pain pill on board,

the day didn't seem so bad.

(Don't worry, a disturbing dream abut being served chocolate covered olives 

by Debbie Reynolds made me reconsider the dose.

Think Debbie Reynolds from her Tammy and the Bachelor days... 

and I DO think I may be on to something with the whole salt and chocolate olive poppers!)

It was a beautiful morning

 practically a day at the spa!

(Told you the drugs were good.)

and we got to Santa Domingo in time to enjoy a street festival 

and Maundy Thursday services.

I even offered to buy Edwina some of this herbal remedy

since I'd been such a pain in the ass!

We settled on this instead!

Honestly, is there anything chocolate doesn't cure?

Well, except obesity.

Santa Domingo has one of the most charming legends associated with it of any town on the Camino -

The Miracle of the Cocks...

you Americans, I can't take you anywhere -

alright, the Miracle of the Rooster.

Seems that 'back in the day', 

a couple and their teenage son were traveling to Santiago 

and stopped for the night in Santa Domingo.

The Inn keepers daughter took quite a shine to the boy and made a pass at him -

which he rebuffed - being a good pilgrim and all. 

The girl didn't take rejection well, placed some of her fathers silver in his backpack and, 

when he left the inn, notified authorities of the 'theft'.

The family was apprehended, their belongings searched and discovery made of the 'stolen' silver.

The boy was immediately sentenced to death.

He was hanged in the town square.

The parents continued, heartbroken, to Santiago.

During prayer in the cathedral, 

they were instructed to return to Santa Domingo on their way home - 

which they did -

and discovered their son alive, 

although swinging from the rope around his neck.

He told them he was being held up by none other than St James himself.

The parents raced to the Judges home, barged in on his dinner 

and informed him that their son was still alive. 

They requested that he be cut down, so they could take him home.

The Judge said derisively that their son was no more alive than the cooked chicken that had just been placed on his table - 

at which point the cooked meat came alive and started leaping about the room.

Needless to say, the boy was released  from the gallows and restored to his family.

To this day, the church in Santa Domingo is the only church in the Roman Catholic tradition that has a Vatican approved chicken coop inside the building!

We were all highly amused with the amount of 'fowl' imagery that was to be had in town!

However, the church also had a feature that all the peregrinas thought was genius!

The Maundy Thursday evening Mass was gorgeous -
so similar to the BCP service that it felt like I was home -
except for the chicken cackling and rooster crowing throughout -

and, after my Camino experience 

and seeing SO much foot care being received and given,

foot-washing will never be the same for me.

I loved how the sun played its way around the church as the evening was ending...

It's always been my favorite day of the liturgical calendar -

and the Spanish version didn't disappoint.

Day 16: Navarette - Azofra (4/16/14)

Third verse... same as the first.

My Camino 'honeymoon' -

and my infatuation with Spain - 

was definitely over!

It was now merely more of the same -

more mountains, more vineyards;

more rivers to cross,

more quaint, look- alike-blending-together-inseparably-in-my-head towns;

more endless walking -

 in the heat with no shade,

always too little water

and too much pain.

I was miserable.

Every foot placement was agony.

I'd pray for my back to stop hurting - 

and my foot would throb unbearably;

I'd pray for my headache to go away -

and be rewarded with full knowledge of exactly how much my face was on fire 

-again - 

from sunburn.

I swear I could feel the cancerous cells multiplying as I walked.

I just knew I'd need a Phantom of the Opera mask 

by the end of this pilgrimage from hell.

Everyone who passed me seemed more fit,

more capable,

more well adjusted 

and  more resigned to our common fate than I.

Yes, I even got as far as...

obviously no one has pain like mine...

or they would be more sympathetic to my misery.

(Reality check -

I actually knew, and had walked with, 

people who needed to seek medical attention at hospital;

some had been admitted,

others had been advised to stop and go home,

some had been told to rest for 3-5 days before continuing on.

I was NOT alone in the toll being taken on my body - 

yet I found no satisfaction in that reality.)

In preparing for the Camino I read, multiple times, that there are three stages -

 the first 1/3 (which I was still on) breaks you down physically;

the middle third (across the meseta) breaks you open emotionally

and, hopefully, the last 1/3 rebuilds you spiritually.

Well, if this stage was designed to break me down, 

then I was really a Super star, 

rockin' the lesson!

I totally got it!

I am NOT my head or my intellect 

or my accomplishments or my feelings.

I am a physical, finite human being 

and, as much as I'd ignored my body for decades,

it was now reminding me, in no uncertain terms,

 exactly how much it could command my attention 

and impact the quality of my days!

It also was beginning to dawn on me that my pain served another purpose altogether.

It was far easier to talk to other pilgrims about my aching knee, 

throbbing feet or back spasms

then say "I'm afraid.

I've just left the only career and life I've known for 35 years 

and I don't know what comes next.

I'm not sure who I am outside of work.

Maybe this retirement thing won't pan out.

I won't have enough money 

and I'll be eating dry cat food when I get home.

What if I get sick. 

I've lived alone for a VERY long time - who will take care of me?

I feel SO in over my head with all the changes in my life.

This is NOT to say that my physical pain wasn't real.

The Camino is hard - far harder than I'd ever imagined...

and it's sustained -

and parts of it are very isolated -

and even getting out of it is not easy
once you're in this far.

So I did what any good American would do -

I tried to live better chemically.

I hadn't worked in a hospital for nothing - 

with friends who were doctors - 

capable and willing to write prescriptions.

I'd been smart enough to bring some pain pills with me -

"just in case" something happened -

well, the Camino happened!

So I took a pain pill to take the edge off -

and, despite visions of sliding down the slippery slope to addiction,

it worked!

In my heart of hearts,

I knew I'd never make it to the end

but at least with meds on board, 

maybe my companions wouldn't have to confine me to a Hermits cell!

The biggest danger was that I'd come home,

want to move to Jefferson County and open a meth house.

It was a chance I was willing to take.

Day 15: Logrono - Navarette (4/15/14)

Sad to say, another horrible day 

of pain and tiredness...

my body was definitely feeling the effects of so much change 

in the level of activity it was being forced to do 

on a continuous basis.

Everything hurt.

And I don't do well with physical pain when I'm exhausted.

(Actually, truth be told, I don't do well with physical pain - period.)

Even though it was a lovely town, 

the previous night at the albergue in Logrono had been awful.

Too many people,

too many snorers -

and I was sick of sharing my personal space 

with complete strangers!

All of which led to ...

no, not a plane flight home 

(although that was on the short list!) -

but I settled for another abbreviated day,

a room in a private pension,

 in a bed with sheets!,

having laundry done by someone else,

AND a BATH - 

complete with shaving my legs!

It's the simple things, folks, that can keep you going!

Its also amazing how restorative a 3 hour 'nap' can be!

Just so you know,

I don't relish being the worst version of who I am.

I'd much prefer being perky and happy. 

(Wouldn't we all?)

However, I have far too much money invested in therapy 

and "getting in touch with my feelings"

to be a good dissembler anymore;

I can't pretend to be anyone other than who I am 

at any given moment.

I DO however have the gift of being able to laugh at myself, 

even my pissy self,

and, hopefully I made enough self deprecating, 

insightful and witty remarks about how bad I was feeling 

to make being around me during those bad days tolerable!

When I feel that bad, 

one sure fire remedy is taking myself to church -

which, as I found out, even works internationally!

If for no other reason
than only to marvel at the different interpretations 

of the same subject;

to remind myself that no version is more 'true',

more 'real' than the other...

they're both valid;

its all in how you look at it.

(And yes, I did see the parallel with my thoughts 

about the different versions of myself right away!
Not that I'm the Virgin Mary... 
you know what I mean...
being a 'born again virgin' isn't the same thing at all!)

While I was there, 

the priest who was instructing a school group

called me up to speak to him.

I was sure I'd be reprimanded for wandering around, 

taking pictures while he was talking.

Instead, after asking the usual 

where was I from and how long had I been walking the Camino questions, 

he told the students how important pilgrims were to the world -

how we were 'witnesses' of the faith;

how we were living reminders that being called to follow Christ was not always easy;

it involved hardship and time away from all that was familiar.

He dismissed me as he continued to tell the children that was why they needed to be respectful 

and helpful to all the pilgrims who came to town.

I started crying as I walked away.

How grateful I was for the reminder that this was not about me; 

I hadn't simply decided to take a long walk after I retired.

For whatever host of reasons, 

I felt called to do this pilgrimage and, 

even if I didn't feel as noble as the priests words made pilgrims sound,

this was about something larger ...

and, 

I still had lots of time to continue walking, 

figuring out what that was!