She looks so familiar. Alyssa. She graduated with me from Del Oro high. I think it's her. Eavesdropping in on her conversation I pick out the words "Sacramento" and "Reno". This is totally her. I walk two meters behind them.
"Hey, Alyssa?"
She recognizes me, too. "Oh, Lindsey?" Close enough. We are both shocked to be starting the Camino on the same day. In high school she was a cross country star. She's in just as good shape as she was then, so I'm sure it will be a breeze for her.
We chat a little and I exchange introductions with Debbie, Alyssa's walking partner who she just met the day before. Alyssa's doing the Camino alone as well.
We walk together for a while, think we took the wrong way, consult our guidebook (thanks, Licha!), and continue on our way as we were. It started to rain, so on the backpack covers and rain jackets went. A lot of people wear ponchos that drape over their backpacks. The looks like giant turtles walking around on two feet. I'm sure their belongings ended up less wet than mine though. Smart turtles.
I stayed back with Debbie as Alyssa continued on ahead.
Debbie is a grandma from Napa. She's simply adorable. She's been wanting to do the Camino for 20 years. Now that her kids and grandbabies are older or in school, she decided this was the year. She trained for the pilgrimage by walking with her grandkids, bought them coloring books that coincide with the places and things she'll see, and here she is. Finding who she is and what she believes in.
We walked and talked for about 30 minutes before the steep hill started to take its toll. Her pack looked pretty heavy. I tried to give her as many words of encouragement along the way, offered to carry her backpack for her (she declined), but at the end of those 30 minutes she decided to walk all the way back to Sean-Jean-Pied-de-Port to take a taxi to Roncesvalles (our next destination). She seemed so down on herself about it. I wish I could've said or done more. I hope to bump into her again somewhere down the road.
I continued on up by myself. By no means was I alone. There were always around 25-50 pilgrims within sight on this first incline. I kept a slow pace, rested, drank water, and admired the view. We were surrounded by green hills, vegetable gardens, wildflowers galore, horses, sheep, and mules. One mule even let out a startling "Good morning pilgrims!" as we passed by.
It was quick, the trek up. I started regretting packing certain things because it just added to the weight and pressure.
We finally arrived to Orisson, which was only 8km (4ish miles) up the way. I decided on the first day (as rough as it was and had yet to be) it would be worth it to pay for a small breakfast (Spanish tortilla, like a quiche) and coffee for myself.
Now the truth. The truth is I only have 50€ to survive on for the next 32 days. I'm not looking for pity at all! I want to explain to you the deeper purpose of my trip that I'm finding/struggling with/excited about/ready to give up the first day over.
I have always been a privileged, white girl. I have never experienced poverty. I have never had to worry about how I'd get food. I have never been literally starving. I've never had to consider sleeping outside in the cold on the ground several nights in a row. I've never even had to worry much about money since I always had a credit card just in case.
But now I do. I mal-prepared in a lot of ways for this trip. Not budgeting. Not turning off certain automatic payments for my bank account. And now I'm poor. But it's amazing. Because I've never been poor. Surely I could ask my parents for money and they would drop hundreds of dollars at the push of a "send". Surely I could activate my credit card and wrack it up with charges I'll have to payback. It'd be worth it, right? Of course. Surely I could even start a "go fund me" on FB. People would totally participate. I have no doubt.
But... What would I miss? I have the opportunity to live like I never have before. Humbly. Think of all the things I can gain from this experience. The compassion. The understanding. The humility. Do you know how hard it is for me to ask for help? So hard. So, so hard. I can't stand the feeling of not being able to do something myself and having to bother others with my burdens.
This is where God wants me to grow. My theme for this Camino, as some of you may know, is GRACE. God's grace. For the next 32 days I'm going to have to be so trusting in him to provide. More than I ever have been before. I'll also have to accept the kindness and compassion of others, which I've always been awful at accepting. And I'll acquire a new perspective on humility that I never have before. Am I worried? Absolutely. Am I scared? So much so. But the more I consider other options. Other bail outs. The more I realize that God wants to teach me something priceless. He wants to mold my character in a brand new way. And this is the safest place to do just that. I'm nervous, but I'm excited. I am so looking forward to telling you of all the amazing ways that God is gracious to me on this journey. I'm leaving Him plenty of room to be.
So for this reason, that meal at Orisson was a big deal. And I felt peace about it. I know God was letting me spend that 6€ to bless me and my hungry tummy on my first day.
At the Orisson cafe I met a sweet Finnish lady and her grandson who are partaking in a portion of the Camino (very common for Europeans to come do a little section every year until they've completed the whole thing). I forgot their names right away since accents can be hard for me. We spoke in English.
After we ate, we headed off. I walked with the sweet Finnish lady, while her standoffish, teenage grandson walked ahead. We exchanged general life stories and she told me she's been a nurse for 40 years. My heart always skips a beat when I meet a nurse (accidental pun).
:-)
Eventually I decided to take it slow, so she went ahead further with her grandson.
Most of my thoughts on today's trek were, "how will I survive" thoughts. I could fast some days. I could sleep outside most nights, other than the rainy ones. I could just buy bread and cheese every day. But then... I could work for food. I know how to wash dishes and clean tables. That could totally be a thing. And maybe the hostels would let me just crash in the foyer. This could work. With better ideas I could continue today's trek worry free. I was happy. I was smiling. I was singing. Even though it was the roughest hike of my life, I felt like God gave me some better options that I hadn't considered.
Today I experienced more terrain and altitude changes than I ever have in my life. From 170m elevation to 1,450m in 8 hours. Terrain included: cobblestone, pavement, grass, mud, gravel, muddy gravel, dead leaves, sheep poop, slippery rocks, puddles, more mud, and sand.
The hills were beautiful and rolling and high and you got dizzy sometimes and you stood in awe sometimes. It was strenuous, 65% uphill, but breathtaking (in both senses). We have painted arrows and red & white lines to guide us (when they are crossed as an x that means we took the wrong path). Lots of shells appeared on the pass as well, which is one of the symbols of the Camino.
There were horses, cows, and sheep free range in a lot of places. And they all had cowbells. It was sweet to the ears hearing them walk around while within these giant green mountains.
These horses were huge. I met one. He was eating two meters away from me, and I invited him with my palm up to come say hello. And he did! So then obviously I had to give him some love in the form of scratching behind his ears and a kiss on the nose. Another pilgrim came by to watch and giggle, but wanted nothing to do with my equestrian friend. When I finished and started walking away, he followed me for several meters. "Come back, I want more lovesss!"
It started to get foggy at one sketchy part. That's when I got a little scared. No one was in sight. I fall to my death here and no one would know. I started to sing some worship songs and my anxiety was relieved.
When it was foggy in the trees I hallucinated for a few seconds that they were caving in on me.
After the funky trees, I started to see other humans again and found my first fountain on the Camino. Roland. Thanks, Roland. I'll be seeing a lot more fountains to fill my water bottle up the whole pilgrimage.
Just when you think you're almost done. You're not. That happened at least four times in the 8 hours I hiked. I was thrilled when it finally started going downhill (3.7km to Roncesvalles said the sign). It's downhill. It shouldn't take too long. Wrong. The mud, oh the mud. By this time I was literally walking alone with no one in sight. Solely relying on the painted arrows on the trees and rocks for guidance.
And I only slipped once. I caught myself with my hand on a rock. I was distracted by my practicing conjugating vosotros verbs. I need to get these down.
Oh, and so many slugs. I didn't touch them in case they were poisoness. But they were long and chubby little guys. Some pitch black, some baby poop colored.
When I finally heard church bells, I was relieved. The last portion seemed to never end. When I heard a car engine, even better. Finally I'd arrived. Huge, centuries old, gray buildings towered over me. I followed some other pilgrim ladies through a back door that ended up being part of the only hostel in town. Over 300 beds (bunks). I walked in and looked for a price. None was posted.
"Will you be staying with us tonight?" a tall, smiley man with red vest asked in English with some kind of accent.
"No, I'm not sure where I'm staying yet."
"If you want the stamp, you stay here."
"How much does it cost to stay?"
"12€"
"Okay, thank you."
Roncesvalles is a small town of under 100 population. The church is the most outstanding of all the buildings. It only has two restaurants. The first one was closed, so I went to the other one, with Betsy still on, to check my options for possibly trading work for food. They were a pretty packed in the small dining room, the waitresses were young, and anxiety took over so I just left right away. I then went to the Pilgrim's office to see if they could give me a stamp. "Only at the hostel," he suggested. As I was throwing trash away in their trashcan, I saw Conchi come in and she said she was glad I made it safely. All the pilgrims I've bumped into tonight have commented on how awful today was with the nearly constant rain. I was thankful for rain and not heat on such a strenuous day. Even though my feetsies are cold now. Also I got a blister on the top of my pinky toe already; ironically from the hiking liner socks.
After I left the Pilgrim's office I decided to go back to the hostel. I needed that stamp for my credencial. And maybe they'd let me crash on the ground in the foyer.
"You've decided to stay after all?" smiley man in the red vest asked.
"Not exactly. I was wondering if you guys charge if I sleep on the ground...?"
His smile turned into a defensive look.
"Yes. That's how much we charge. That's what they have us charge."
"Okay, thanks anyway."
As I walk away, a young guy smoking a cigarette by the door inquires in broken English, "They no have any beds?"
"Hablas español?"
"Ha, I was practicing my English. They have no more beds?"
"No, they do. I just don't have enough money," I shrug and walk away.
I get half way across the courtyard when I hear, "Wait!" I ignore it the first time not thinking it's directed at me.
"Wait, I want to!"
I turn around to see what's up.
"I want to pay your bed."
"No," I say. "No, I can't."
"Yes, I want to."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Wait here."
"Okay." I wait outside the door.
He comes back with exactly 12€. I couldn't believe it.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
He taps my arm and walks away.
Wow. I don't even know.
I approach the once smiley man in the red vest.
"Can I get a room?"
"Oh, you decided to stay with us now?" He said condescendingly.
"Someone helped me," I softly uttered as I lifted up the exact change.
His demeanor again changed. Like a remorse for how he had previously acted towards me.
"This way," and he guided me into the office to pay. They stamped my credencial. Wow. I feel so humbled by this whole circumstance. This is what grace feels like.
The clerk tells me how to get to my bunk, and smiley man in the red vest shows me where to put my muddy boots with everyone else's.
I walk up to my space with the others. 100 beds on my floor alone.
I put my stuff in my cupboard. Climb into my bed, curl up, and sleep. I have a bed. By grace I have a bed. I'm so blessed.
I wake up in time to change to go to mass. Conchi had told me about it. The church is right across the courtyard. I enter with another pilgrim girl as it's just getting started. It was a special service for pilgrims. I'm not Catholic, but this church still believes in the same Jesus as me. So they're family. They recited prayers that I didn't know. The two priests sang beautiful latin duets that echoed off the stone walls.
Then came the teaching.
The one priest read this portion of the scriptures:
“Jesus and his disciples went on to the villages around Caesarea Philippi. On the way he asked them, “Who do people say I am?” They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” Peter answered, “You are the Messiah.””
Mark 8:27-29
He then went on to mention that the Messiah (chosen/anointed one) was predicted to be rich and powerful. But Jesus wasn't. He was poor and humble. His power was His love that he showed to others. He was rejected and suffered. He knows what that feels like. He knows what the condescending looks feel like. He knows what body aches feel like. He spent his last three years on Earth as a pilgrim walking from city to city to teach and to love. He gets me. The other day at a train stop, God presented to me his purpose for me in this trip. It's been set as my phone lock screen for over a year now, but now it serves a very personal purpose. More than ever before.
“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
Micah 6:8 NIV
Tomorrow is a new day. And with my God, humbly I'll walk.
No comments:
Post a Comment