Day 11: San Juan de Ortega and Áges

The full room was dark. 5:45am. Camille had been asleep in the bunk in front of mine. She was already up. Only her sleeping bag occupied her twin mattress. I rolled back over to sleep twice more. The fourth time i checked her belongings were gone. She must've left. Maybe I can still catch up. I collected my haul into Betsy and dragged her to the bathroom to put myself together. Camille and I had left chorizo in the fridge. In case she'd spaced, I stopped in the kitchen to grab it. As soon as I openes the door I was greetes by her warm smile with a "Good morning!" She sat at the table munching pieces of chorizo she'd sliced with her souvenir knife with "Lourdes" engraved on the handle. I joined her.

Two more gentleman walked in and started their breakfast. Then they offered us some juice. I never reject a juice offer. I love fruit.

As I finished my glass of tropical flavors and washed it in the sink, Camille and I predicted the walk and agreed to take the day slowly.

We did. We so did.
In the second town (7km in) we stopped for coffee, orange juice, chocolate, and cut up more chorizo ans bread for breakfast. We stayed an hour.
Another couple kilometers later we stopped to put our feet in the river and hang out on the foot bridge. For another hour and a half.
We moved forward another hundred steps into the town (Villafrance, I think). Popped into a bar called "Alba" (Camille's late aunt's name), but there was only one other man in there besides the bartender. They were chatting and we felt like we were imposing. The food didn't looj great anyway. Headed to a minimart and bought groceries that were ridiculously marked-up. Mixed nuts, fruit, key lime cookies, and a coke to share. Over 10€. Still tasty. We munched and talked. For another hour and a half in the shade of the church.
Continued up the series of peaks. Stopped on a bridge again. For another 45 min.
Every few kilometers we were stopping to rest and go more in depth in our talks. It is incredible how intimate and vulnerable conversations get on the Camino. Things you wouldn't share with your closest friends and family, you find yourself confessing to someone you've only known three days. And you feel like you need them. Like Camille... as I'm writing this I am not with her. And I feel so empty. We're in different cities now. And I'm kinda mourning not having her friendship and company right now. It's crazy. She showed me part of her Camino devotional yesterday that talked about just this.

So on Tuesday, after so many stops, we agreed to go full speed ahead. We saw signs for an "Oasis", but when we arrived to the Native American themed section of the trail, it was abandoned. There was still a trash full of orange peels. We must've just missed this littlw stand (later found out there were hammocks and everything).

The last stretch of this stage didn't seemed to end. The last 5km seemed double that. My feet were dying. I changed into tevas.
Finally. Finally we arrived into San Juan de Ortega (population: 60--haha). We still had planned to walk another 3.5km to Ages. I was miserable. Even though I wore pants all day (and even boots) like the doctor recommended, my legs burned so bad. And I needed a bathroom.
"Wanna go into the church? Even if just to cool off?" I offered to Camille.
We headed in. Olya and Anita were both already inside. Alyssa and Brenda also came out of the shadows. Happy reunions. I plopped Betsy on a stone bench and snuck into a hostel to use the restroom. When I came back, mass had already begun. This mass was very slow. Specifically designed for pilgrims. (Remember: population of 60)

We even were provided pamphlets that had all the liturgy and prayers written out. My understanding of the services I'd been assisting came to life. Some prayers are spoken in Latin; others in Spanish. This mass could've been very special to me, but all I could think of was how badly my legs and ankles burned.
"I haven't been praying about this." I thought. I blogged about it. I asked a few hospitaleros for advice. I looked stuff up on Google. I went to the emergency room. I even got medicine from the pharmacy that I have taken as directed. But not once had I asked God to do what I know He does so well and so gracefully: heal me.
So there in mass, I began to ask for healing under my breath.

During the pilgrim blessing (which every mass I've been to has done at the end), this priest gifted necklaces to all the pilgrims who cane forward. I didn't line up. I didn't allow for this service to be special to me. That necklace would end up in a drawer somewhere that would only get opened four times a year. I'd never wear it. Maybe another pilgrim would. I don't want it.

We left.
"Let's keep going. You wanted to go to Ages," Camille insisted. Something about Camille's company, her stories, her encouragement, her cute laugh... it always makes me forget about my legs. The burn goes away. Good company really can be a medicine.

We finally got to Ages. Another small town. Around 60 small as well, but more accommodations for pilgrims, I'd say. Right away we saw tables full of smiley pilgrims that enjoyed their evening meals as we were just getting in at 7:30. They cheered for us. No question. We were the last ones. Lainie and Chris were there, even.

As we made our way down the patio strip, one table stopped us.
"Did you know you're famous in the United States?"
"Me?" I was curious.
"Yeah," the brunette middle-age man with glasses assured, "I wrote about you in my blog. The ukulele girl. And then I started talking about the fountains and a friend of mine wrote, 'Enough about the fountains; I want to hear more about the ukulele girl.'"
He went on to share with me how special the moment was when he walked past me playing the uke, and then could hear the dreamy echo of it as he continued forward.
"I'll write about you in my blog, too."
We shook hands and I thanked him. My Camille and I continued down the way in search for the Snail House (Casa Caracol). It wasn't in sight. We aproached some elderly ladies on the bench who simultaniously informed us that it was closed. Camille asked if the church that was near us was open for viewing. The three wrinkly, toothless mouths also simultaneously confirmed. We went in, and one of the gals followed behind. She stood watch of us in the entrance as we stepped around the sanctuary of the humble church. As we were leaving, we thanked her for allowing us to see it.
Over and over she kept saying, "This is how I volunteer. I don't even charge anything. I don't even ask. This is volunteer. I don't charge." Okay, I get it.
I once again thanked her as I placed two coins in her palm. She added them up with her eyes, thanked me, and followed us out were she proceeded to walk us to a hostel and get us the best deal possible. That gesture of tipping her might have saved us 10€.

Credencials were stamped, inscribed in the records, room paid for. We waited a few minutes for the owner to take us to our rooms. We got our own room. So nice. The establishment was humble. Worth 5€, for sure.
"Enjoy your stay."
As soon as he shut the door behind him, I kicked off my shoes, stripped of my pants, and fell onto the bed.
The burn. More intense than even any sunburn I've ever had. And this wasn't a sunburn. I had blisters on my ankles now. Fluid-filled blisters. What is this? What's wrong?

As soon as Camille left the room, I started to cry. So scared. Why is this happening? Why is the Camino so much harder for me? God, why?

Camille came back in. I tried to stop the tears, but they came back.
"I feel like God's teaching me to depend on him in all these different ways. First it was the money. I was poor, but then he provided. Now it's this. I'm sick. And I have to depend on him again. What's next? If this resolves, what's next?"

"WHEN this resolves...." Camille changed my sentence.

"WHEN this resolves," I agreed.

We both showered and washed our clothes. We snacked on our previous munchies for our dinner, and discussed options for tomorrow.

"I'm not your mother, but I really think you shouldn't take a taxi tomorrow. Give your legs a rest."
She looked at them better in the light.
"That's GROSS!"
It really was gross. The blisters, the swelling, the redness.
A taxi would be a possibility. For now, I had pillows stacked under my legs (Camille's consideration), underpants drying on the line, and a soft bed.

"Have Camille pray for your legs." I heard this phrase repeated to me in my head, by whom I'd only assume to be the Holy Spirit, two other times today. Why would I assume that? Because asking someone I've only known for 10 days to pray for me out loud doesn't sound like a comfortable request to make. And asking someone who has already made it clear that in their religion it is atypical for them to pray spontaneously out loud in front of others sounds even less like a comfortable request.

However, I've learned from past circumstances that when I have chosen not to obey those uncomfortable suggestions I get in my head, I have ALWAYS--and I mean that in it's whole qualification--regretted it.

So after this third prompting, I awkwardly mumbled, "Camille, will you pray for my legs?"
"Of course. I'm always praying for you."
There was a silence.
"Will you pray for my legs out loud?"
She looked me in the eyes. Then at the floor embarrassed. Then back into my eyes.
"Yes."
She closed her eyes and maintained the silence for a moment.
The awkwardness was mutual.
But then she began to pray.
It was so genuine. And it was so loving. And I think I even mumbled in agreement to what she asked our God for. And then she finished with Amen. And then I knew. I knew that the hopelessness that I had just felt moments ago. The thoughts about quitting and returning home. The fears about to what degree my legs could continue to get worse. I knew that was all gone. My hopelessness was gone, and with a simple, genuine prayer my faith was restored. I rested my head on my pillow with confidence. I knew that God was healing me. Even right there on that bed. No more worries.

"Tomorrow will worry about itself."