Day 28: Villares de Orbigo - Murias de Rechivaldo (4/28/14)

A cold front moved through over night 

and the wind today felt like it was coming directly off the mountains. 

It made near perfect walking weather - 

 and having my nose run so much because of the cold 

really helped clear it out so I could breathe. 

(Not having any Kleenex though was still a real problem. 

Trust me, you do not want to know what micro-organisms are probably
even now 

breeding in the fabric of the right arm of my coat!)

The path wasn't bad;

boring maybe but not bad

and it took me right up to,

and through, Astorga -

which I'm told is a beautiful town, 

only you couldn't prove it by me.

It was Monday -

all the museums and churches were closed and

I had no intention of sticking around for another day to merely 'sightsee', 

so I pressed on.

The Camino through Astorga was the most poorly marked 

of all major cities I'd been in so far.

After getting lost several times, I was just glad to get out!

I couldn't help but admit how much easier it is to navigate 

when there are two, or three, pairs of eyes

all looking for arrows

instead of just one.

There were also no Farmacias open - 

for some bizarre reason -

so there was no chance to nab OTC cold medicine -

and I was really dragging.

As soon as I was safely out of the city, 

I signed into a municipal albergue.

 I immediately had second thoughts.

The cleanliness standards simply were not up to what I'd become used to -

and we're certainly not talking 'eat off the floor' clean!

It was the only albergue I stayed in so far 

where the possibility of encountering bed bugs seemed very real.

(Just an aside:

Despite my concerns about this place -

and all the posts I'd read on different forums 

before going to Spain about what a problem they can be -

I had NO issues with bed bugs on the entire Camino.

It was however a factor in why I chose to go in spring, 

hoping the recent cold/freezing weather would have slowed them down;

it also wasn't the height of the season, with crowds 

(especially teenagers and college students) 

who might not be as careful about transporting them.)

After checking in and dropping my stuff off,

I headed out to find some food

since I was running on empty.

I had been operating on orange juice and toast for breakfast -
over 7 hours ago.

There was no store in town however;

so my only option was a health food, 

hippie vibe bar run by some Dutch chick.

Inside, there was nothing I wanted to eat.

(It isn't just me who can't decide 
what I really want to eat 

when I don't feel well, is it?)

I was basically strong-armed into having a smoothie 

( consisting of carrots, an apple, orange, celery and fresh ginger),

the consistency of which was guaranteed to start me gagging.

 She whipped it up for me, saying "it was better than antibiotics for a cold" 

and she made me take it and sit outside in the sun,

"to have a side of Vitamin D".

As I sat there, trying to down the concoction,

I started crying;

sobbing actually.

I missed home;

I missed my sons and my dogs,

my friends and extended family.

I had no idea why I was here or what I was supposed to be learning.

I couldn't figure out what God wanted me to do.

I was lonely.

I wondered if I'd be this alone and vulnerable
for the rest of my sad, pathetic life.

I was completely unaware that the bar owner had come out to check on me
and see how I was doing -

until she ran over,
after seeing me cry.

She swept me into her arms, making me stand up,

 and gave me such a fierce hug it was as if she felt 

she alone could keep the fractured pieces of myself together 

through the sheer force of her energy.

She held my face between her hands, wiped my tears with her thumbs and said

"My darling, you mustn't be afraid; 

emotions on the Camino are strong. 

You must face them and that can hurt,

but I can tell you won't break under them".

With that, she took me to her 'private garden' at the back of the shop.

She showed me how to get out through the gate and re-lock it when I left.

She left the door to the shop completely unlocked so I could get in to the store

if I needed to get anything to eat, drink 

or use the bathroom 

and she told me to stay as long as I needed to.

She brought me a sandwich of fresh tomato and mozzarella cheese, drizzled with oil,

 on a small baguette (for which she refused to take payment).

And then, because it was siesta and she needed to get home,

she left.

Leaving a complete stranger with total access to her business.

Her 'garden' was private and protected from the wind

but it wasn't much as gardens go

As acts of human kindness go,

it was everything.

I lay down on an old stone bench 

built into the wall

and immediately fell asleep.

I woke an hour later -
and returned to the albergue.

When I was planning my Camino, I wrote to 50 friends/family members

asking them for words of encouragement.

I knew I'd need some connection with them to get through the darkest days.

I provided them with a 3x5 card and a self addressed stamped return envelope.

I got 49 identical envelopes back...

and, even though the guy in Pamplona tried to get me to mail them on to Santiago 

because of their weight, 

I'd carried them with me as lifelines.

My inital plan had been to open one every morning
and use the contents as a focus while walking.

However, the reality of Camino mornings is that they're busy - 

and rarely conducive
 to contemplation, quietness
or any kind of privacy. 

Instead, I had taken to opening a letter every day
after I was in an albergue, 

after taking a shower and getting ready to rest.

I  randomly chose a letter when I got back - 

and this is what I got:

Tired

And lonely,

So tired

The heart aches.

Meltwater trickles

Down the rocks,

The fingers are numb,

The knees tremble.

It is now,

Now, that you must not give in.

On the path of the others

Are resting places,

Places in the sun

Where they can meet.

But this 

Is your path

And it is now,

Now that you must not fail.

Weep

If you can,

Weep,

But do not complain.

The way chose you - -

And you must be thankful.

Dag Hammarskjold

And, oddly enough,
in that moment,
I was.