Thursday, June 30, 2016

Day 12: Burgos

3:15am
Legs looking a little better, but blisters still gross.
5:15am
Legs still burn a little. Mostly ankle region.
7:15am
I'm gonna take a taxi. I tell Camille this, and she packs up to start her walk. We hug goodbye and agree to text to communicate when there's wifi
7:32
Look up taxi prices and bus routes on the bulletin board of the main hostel. Nothing seems appealing.
7:49
Research my symptoms on Google. Looking for peace of mind. Golfer's vasculitis looks and reads like it could be what I have maybe a more severe version.
8:01
Decide to walk the stage today afterall. It's chilly and foggy, so heat shouldn't be an issue. Text Camille to let her know.
8:04
Begin.

The path mostly takes me along the road. Foggy-fog world. I walk alone until the first town where I have breakfast. One lady running the place, but it's not busy anyway. Coffee, chocolate croissant, and a banana. Chris, Lanie, and Anita are just finishing up when I arrive.
"I love this cafe," Lainie comments.
I decide I do to. As I sit at the bar table enjoying my breakfast by myself, I trace my eyes around the inside as I admire the layout, the warmth, and the various options.
Anita had left, but pops back in the bathroom to change into longer pants.
I rush to finish my breakfast so that we may walk together. We do.
We catch up a little about the past few days since we haven't been together much. While we're walking up the hill we pass another lady who also happens to be Hungarian. Anita notices her struggling and encouragement, so hangs back to walk with her while I march forward and at my faster pace. With no one closely before me nor behind me, I have the next two hours to sing some worship songs loudly, which I haven't gotten to do yet. It was healing. I sang songs about healing and trust especially.
I still carried my hope and faith with me from last night's prayer. Even if my legs weren't all that better looking, I still had no doubt that God was working on them.

I went through my voice memos on my phone. A lot of them are songs I wrote, but never finished. It's funny how they were so pertinent to this moment. Part of a lyrics from one is:
"A firm step moves forward with great confidence. Not to regress back, only turn to glance as it continues forward in God's presence."
I must keep moving forward.

I eventually made it to a town where I caught up with Chris and Lainie who'd stopped for a potty break. As Lainie and I are walking, someone waving in a cafe window catches my eye.
My Camille!!!!
She waited for me. I went in as Chris and Lainie continued on. As soon as I connected to wifi I got a iMessage from Camille as she was telling me that she sent me a message to tell me she'd wait for me. She shared the cheese I like with me. She thought of me when she ordered it.

We rested there for about a half hour more. Anita popped in and she continued on with us. We all three walked together for a few kilometers, and then Camille told us to go ahead. I haven't seen her since. :-(

I walked directly behind Anita all the way to Burgos. The path was mostly on the road and highway (we missed the turn for the prettier path). We passed a construction zone where we both got bathed in asphalt mix. Good times. I found some in my ear and my bra later that evening. As we passed the airport and came to the outskirts of the city Burgos, we entered the land of hotels, car dealers, and slot machines. Villafria. We stopped at a bar for an hour break (I had a coffee and she smoked her last cigarette). I considered taking the bus with Yudit (the other Hungarian lady), but it came and went so fast. I think I was okay to walk.

I walked behind Anita, as I listened to Jack Johnson in my headphones, another 2 hours into the heart of the city. It took forever. We were in the city. Everything said "Burgos", but downtown where we'd stay was still another hour's walk. When we did finally make it, I HAD to stop for the first chocolate shop and order hot chocolate with churros (like I'd ha din Madrid with Paul). Anita didn't want any at the time. Something about eating them by myself made them not as tasty. At this point, with plans to stay in two different hostels, we parted.

I crossed the bridge to get to mine. Three locals offered directions on where to find the albergue I was looking for. I had planned to stay at la Casa Parroquial de Emaús (Parrish) because my churcj back home is called Emmaus as well. I had to ring the bell three times before a sweet, white-haired lady opened the door.
"Sorry, I was taking care of the trash," she apologized.
"No worries!"

She gave me the tour up the two story marble steps and made it very clear that religious purpose was important to her in a pilgrim. I felt obligated to put on my most religious enthusiasm. This is strange to me. That I felt the need to do this, I mean. Rather than just be me and mention God and spiritual things just as often as I typically would. But anyway, that was then and I noticed and learned. The guidebook said the albergue was Christian run (all others had said Catholic), so supposed maybe this could be protestant. It was definitely Catholic. And that's quite alright. After the tour, she sat me down to get me inscribed, rushed to the kitchen, came out with a cup and a pitcher of banana smoothie that she generously poured me, and we continued to talk about my purpose and future aspirations that she inquired of. She was sweet, Mari-Noel. I was intimidated by her curiosity and strong religious opinions, but she was still sweet. She also shared with me how she got started as a volunteer at the parish. She lives there and being a hospitalera is her life. For 14 years. And she said she has the heart of a nun, but would never wear a habit, so she never took nun vows in the church, but just personally. Pretty neat.

She encouraged me to go see the Cathedral on the other side of the river today since it was Saint Juan's week still (this was the last night of the weeklong celebration throughout Spain). I showered, laundered, dressed, put NewSkin on my ankle blisters that had worsened, texted Camille to possibly meet me, and left. I walked in the general direction of the cathedral, letting my curiosity of the parades, music, and costumes that filled the streets of the city guide me. Everyone was dresses up in renaissance/medieval style clothes, or had collared shirts tied around their waist, or bandanas around their necks. The city was filled with spirit and joy. The front of the church was decorated with elaborate flower arrangements dedicated to Saint John. I waited around the cathedral to see if Camille would come, but never saw her, and since I wanted to go to mass at the church connected to the albergue, I headed back across the river. I passed several stage set-ups for concerts.

I walked into the sanctuary during rosary prayer. Camille had explained to me the other day how this works, so I just sat, observed, and listened as the women chanted the same memorized prayers together whilst rotating the beads in their fingers.

15 minutes passed and it was time for mass. This mass had a lot of singing, which I liked. Camille explained to me the other day that the singing varies based on the ley people (congregants) and whether someone decides to be bold and lead a song or not. One of the beautiful elderly women lead at every opportunity. I adored this. I tried to sing or hum along.

I started the service seated alone, but slowly Mari-Noel, gathered all the albergue girls up like little chicks and had us sit in front of her. We went up together for the pilgrim blessing at the end of mass. Rather than a reading, as at the others, this priest places both hands on each of our heads to bless us one at a time. Maybe because we were so few? I appreciated it.

We all went upstairs, first to the room we shared. As I was checking on the blisters, Mari-Noel saw them and insisted that we pop them later. She disapproved of me having put NewSkin on them. I reminded her that my intentions were to prevent the popping in order for my ankle not to get infected while walking in the dirt. "We'll talk after," she shot me a concerned look.

Time for communal dinner (my favorite part of parroquial's--home away from home). Salad, cooked potatoes, pickled asparagus, bread, and french cheese (Mari-Noel, although fluent in Spanish, is actually native to France). The pilgrims of this night were mostly English speaking. Alya from the U.S. and Kuwait, Amy and Uncey from South Korea, and another young man came late who was referred to as an "Andaluz" or a person from southern Spain. Mari-Noel asked me to translate some of dinner. Sliced fruit and cookies for dessert. We all cleaned up together and set the table for breakfast. Then it was time for evening prayer. Candles were lit to set the mood. Mari-Noel asked me to translate into English as she gave instruction. Each individual read a part of their prayer in their own language. She also opened up a time for us each to share. She asked me to start. I self-translated my story of how God is using the Camino to teach me how to depend on him for strength (so far financially and physically). I'm not sure what's to come, I admitted. Others shared, and we were dismissed.

Except me. We needed to pop those blisters, she decided. She got a needle, sterilized it with a lighter, and handed it over. I popped them outside. Then I decided of this was going to be effective, I was going to need to peal off the NewSkin I'd painted on earlier. Yes, it hurt like the Dickens. Whatever that's like. After they were all popped, it was time to cleanse. Mari-Noel brought me a bucket of water to soak my ankle in. It was too short, so she got on her knees and began pouring the water with her hand over my ankle. So much love. Wow. After a few minutes a dried off my ankle, Alya offered me some of her antiseptic ointment, and Mari-Noel began to wrap my ankle in gauze. So much love. Wow.

We cleaned up, and said our goodnights. This is a new kind of Grace. A new category maybe?















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