Day 7 & 8: Viana, Lorgroño, & Nájera

4:02pm

Before I tell you about the rest of my day, I need to tell you how I feel right now. I feel a little violated, and I don't know. I'm holding back tears on my top bunk in the Catholic church parish of Logroño. I wasn't raped. I wasn't even really molested I don't think. I was just touched by my a man in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. 

Today's account might be parted up. Perceptions might change as the night progresses. So stay with me.

I had walked and talked with Anita the whole 28.7km. One of the cities we passed through to rest, Viana, i've decided I will live in one day. I can't explain why. I just know. We had the best day yet. It was raining as I got into the city of Logroño mid-afternoon. She departed to her hostel, and I continued through the downpour in search of the parish (stay by donation) where I'd spend the night as I'm down to 1.47€. The Camino provides various donation parishes to stay the night the rest of the trip, so I have a certain amount of assurance on having a roof over my head.

After sloshing in my tevas up the puddles of the cobblestone street, I finally made it up to the big wooden doors. I buzzed the "peregrino" button. 

A smiley, white-haired man opened the door and welcomed me in. He zipped into another room and quickly reappeared with a towel for my sopping wet self. I was the second to the last person to be accepted in with room still available. Otherwise I would've been in then rain on the streets. Grace. 

The hostelero, Don Joaquin, gave me the run-down on all the amenities (free dinner and breakfast) and schedules (mass) for this evening, and I returned his hospitality with a appreciative demeanor and words of utter gratitude. He returned to his office to attend to some other pilgrims (two middle-age, American gals) who asked questions in broken Spanish and were answered in broken English. I plopped Betsy on my top bunk and went back out to the foyer to wait to ask for some advice/insight on my persistent and worsening hives on my legs. After several minutes, I could no longer handle the linguistic miscommunications between them, and finally popped my head in to translate. Questions had answers and the ladies headed back into the dorm.

Don Joaquin approached me right away. 

"Don Joaquin, I was wondering if you have any advice or have seen anything like this before? I'm thinking maybe it's from the plants, but I'm not sure."

I tilt my calf into the light.

He signals for me to sit down as he does the same in the adjacent chair and proceeds to grab my whole leg and place it over his lap.

I don't like this.

As a patient, my doctor has the right to touch parts of my body without having to ask my permission every time.

My chiropractor has that same right. He doesn't have to ask me every time he's going to adjust my lower back.

My dentist does not have to ask to put his hands in my mouth. It's an obvious understanding. You get my point.

When I show a parish volunteer the side of my leg, what makes him assume he has the same right as those people would?

If he were to just observe my leg on his lap for a better look, I would've blown it off. But he gently rubbed his hand along it. Much more than he needed to. Sure, his words were giving advice, but his hands were saying something else. Something else I didn't like. He kept saying "While you shower rub it" "You should shower off" "When you're showering..." Aaaaah. No more. I just wanted out. I wanted my leg off his lap and I wanted out of that office. He finally knocked my leg back on the ground, shook my shoulder and said "Chill out."

I'm still so... I don't know. Were his intentions not bad? Am I reading to much into it? Are Spanish people just inherently more touchy and forward? Is he actually a creep? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. All I know is my stomach has been in knots since, my eyes are holding back a fountain from all the people in this dorm, and I wish I could blink my eyes and grow a backbone.

10:07pm

The night improved. I contacted my mom and she basically gave me an honest "You're innocent, so it feels more intense" kind of reminder with a concerned "Don't be around that man alone" precaution. I felt better.

I sat on my bed for a good while before moving forward with getting ready to shower. As I gathered what I'd need for the event, one of the American ladies, Alyssa, approached me at my bunk and asked if I'd join her and her sister, Brenda, for Sangria.

"I can't, but thank you though."

I can't? Why couldn't I? I could have easily sat with them and indulged in conversation. She didn't say, "Would you like to come buy sangria with us." She was simply asking for my company I considered all this after they'd left. 

I showered (my armpit hair is getting long!), washed my shirt and underpants from today, and thought I was going to mass, but the hostel volunteers reminded me I was a whole hour and a half early. So I napped. For 15 minutes.

Suddenly...

"Preep ear die ner! Preep ear die ner!"

Do you know what that means? Neither did I until I heard the Spanish translation. 

"Quieres ayudar a preparar la cena?" Don Joaquin asked one of my dorm-mates, Renato.

Prepare dinner. Gotcha.

I continued to lay in my top bunk as I considered my options:

a) continue napping until mass

b) go offer to help prepare so I can gain a better impression of Don Joaquin.

I chose b) and it worked. He joked around with all of us as we cut tomatoes, prepared salads, sliced bread, set the table, and washed dishes. I was helping with a German girl named Gaby (whose a perpetual backpacker--that's her "home") and Renato from Ecuador (who reminded me a lot of my former boyfriend). Don Joaquin (Spaniard) and Don Jovani (Italian) are both Camino veterans who volunteer in the hostels throughout the year. For helping with prep, they shared fresh cherries, plums, and a shot of what I think was liquor with us. In a seminary. Oh the irony. And the grace.

At 7:30pm I went to mass with Renato and Gaby. I'm starting to understand the liturgy better. It's basically the same every mass at every church. This priest, however, did no hymns nor homily, which was a first. We went forward at the end for the pilgrim blessing which is offered at every mass.

After mass it was time for dinner. I met Silvia from The Netherlands and enjoyed conversation with Brenda and Alyssa. Brenda is a church secretary from Washington and Alyssa is a teacher, author, and radio show host from Minneapolis. They are middle-age step-sisters who are doing the Camino together. They were also at mass. For dinner we enjoyed salad, bread, and genuine Italian spaghetti per chef Jovani. Amazing. For dessert: watermelon. You may or may not know that melons are the only fruits I dislike. But I ate three pieces because... Grace.

After dinner we went back to the church for a group prayer. We sat in these strange wooden benches with awkwardly high arm rests in a semi-rectangle and prayed in all the languages of everyone present one at a time. It was so unifying. Wow. German, Dutch, English, Italian, Spanish all professing the love of God.  

Back upstairs for dishes. Again only Renato and Gaby volunteered with me. Don Joaquin walked around barking instructions with an unlit pipe hanging out the corner of his mouth. Breakfast items set in the table. Done.

Teeth brushed. Time for bed.

Saturday 5:50pm

Today was the best day yet!

The walk was easy. The weather was perfect. The company and conversation were everything my soul and spirit needed today. And... Grace.

I hopped out of bed to my twinkle alarm at 5:05am. You know that feeling when you wake up and have no idea where you are for like 3 seconds? That happens to me every day now. Ha

I had breakfast upstairs. The only one at the table set for sixteen. Coffee with milk, plum jam and toast. Teeth brushed, gather my clothes that never dried over night, and grab Betsy to go.

Wait. How do you open the door? Doors here in Europe on the older buildings can be so strange. After 3 minutes of looking for a lever, a knob, ringing the buzzer, looking for a button, anything... the Italian girl motioned for me to hold the buzzer down and then push the door. It worked. The third time.

On my way I went. Now where are those obscure yellow arrows?

I walked just to the end of the building and who did I see? My Camille! On the Camino you meet so many people that meet so many different social needs and you there's. Camille keeps me spiritually encouraged. She loves to talk about God. And because she's a school teacher she also loves to help people grow. These two things make for very spiritually/emotionally dense moments, which I love. She's one of those people who's not afraid to say what she thinks, share what she's been through, or do what she must if it means edifying the person she's speaking with. We walked all day together, stopped occasionally for rests and to visit a beautiful church in Navarrete (Alyssa was there, too), and just enjoyed the conversation and company of each other. Encouragement and insight galore! The time and the kilometers didn't even phase us. We finally arrived to Nájera and we split up to different hostels. Hugs and both agreed taht today was the best yet. 

I'm in a donation-run hostel put on by the municipality. My Anita is here, Gaby, Silvia, and Chris & Lainie. I showered and headed out in search of a medical consultation. The rash on my legs has gotten ridiculous. So much pain. I walked several blocks to the emergency room (the only consult open since it's still Saint Juan's Week--a holiday) and they charge Americans 76€ for a consult with the doctor. Insane. If I lived in the European Union it would be free. I'll have to look into my travel insurance med coverage, but first a CocaCola (you'll read about my newest Grace next). I look through all the bars to see if Camille is around yet (we said we'd meet up later). No sign of her. So I picked the oldest looking bar and sat inside cause it's chilly and overcast out. People are still on the bar patios anyway. Not this chick. So here I am sitting with an empty plate where a bocadillo (fancy ham sandwich) once sat, an empty coke, and an empty coffee cup. All consumed by me. Satisfied and feeling provided for by a good, good Heavenly Father.

I was with an individual today who inquired about my financial situation on this trip. I have made it a point not to share this with any other pilgrims in order to not be pitied, because for me there's no pity at all in living off God's grace alone. But this individual specifically asked. I was honest. About my irresponsibility in budgeting, about my first few days of fear, and then my excitement and experience thus far on God's grace. This individual was moved (their words) and felt inclined to give me 50€. Wow. After moments of not wanting to accept such a gift and encouraging them to think it over first, I did receive Grace and expressed much gratitude while holding back tears. I put the 50€ in my buttoned pocket on my pants where I keep my phone.

Three hours later... It was gone. Panic. Utter panic.  I checked the only three streets where it could've fallen. I asked all the individuals around the vicinity. I checked the bathroom. I checked the table. Panic. Embarrassment. More panic. Utter embarrassment. I had to fess up to the individual as they noticed a change in my countenance. How did they respond? 

"I guess someone else needs it."

What? What?? You're not angry? You're not even offended by what seems like carelessness after your overly generous gesture? What?

I was in disbelief. 

They held out another 50€. Nope. I can't. I was stubborn. We walked outside, sat and shared a delicious spread of carrots, salami, cucumber, cherries, and sliced baguette that they had brought. My face still downcast with shame.

"How much harder would it be for you to receive the 50€ now that you already lost the first 50€?"

Oof. I'm crying right now as I type this. 

This type of grace is so much different. This is grace on the next level. This is Mercy. And this person showed me a mercy that mirrors the mercy that Christ continually shows us. He forgave us. He gave us Grace. The forgiveness he "worked hard for" with his sacrifice was gift just for us. He was moved by compassion to bless us with the Grace. Yet. Yet how many times do we slander others intentionally? How many times do we turn a blind eye to the needy because we don't have the time or patience? How many days do we go without acknowledging such a Good Father we have? And yet. And yet his forgiveness never runs out. The Bible says his Mercy is new every morning. No matter what we did or didn't do the day before. No matter how much we chose NOT to love Him and NOT to love others, he offers his Mercy again. Oof.

So I have 51.17€ now.

Because Grace & Mercy.