My morning walk into Los Arcos had only been 8 kilometers from Villamayor de Monjardin. An average day on the Camino is closer to 24k. Taking a rest day to tend to my swollen foot so early in the walk put me behind on my itinerary. Stopping was admitting I was not in control of this journey; it was a complete surrender, or so I thought.

I had become accustomed to the Pilgrims and the support network I had built up around me. Stopping now meant no more French guy passing me by asking, “ca va?” I might never again see that cute German couple that pats me on the back or cheers me on with a “fantastico.” I sat in a cafe to drink one last cup of hot chocolate with Carol from Alaska. We had walked together on and off since Roncesvalles. When I was complaining in Monjardin of my aching sciatica, Carol knew just what to do. Carol would be continuing her journey, while I was staying behind.

I went back to my albergue rested, ate an entire bar of chocolate and made arrangements to have my bag shipped to the next town. If I was going to continue walking in the morning, the extra weight would have to go.

Over the next few days I walked 81 kilometers. The last 21k from Najera to Santo Domingo were particularly brutal. Perhaps it was because my foot was swollen, or perhaps because the road markers now appeared every kilometer. It was like watching the pot that never boils. When I had counted 21 of those posts, the arrow pointing to Santo Domingo still said “Santo Domingo 3 kilometers.”

Despite the long walk, it was a beautiful stretch of Spanish country side.  I started at sunrise that morning, arriving by 12:30, and took the first albergue I came across, a Cistercian Abby built in the 1600’s.  A nun checked me in, stamping my Pilgrim’s Passport. She motioned to the donation box (recommended 5 euros), gave me a slip of paper with a bunk number and pointed me to the boot room.  All of it came with instructions in Spanish, of course. “No hablo Español!” Tried to find out what time mass was. “Que hora es et la missa? I think that might be part Latin, part Italian. Not sure. A long explanation ensued. No idea.

The floor of the boot room is made of small stones embedded on their sides; a large door at the end of the room suggests it was a carriage house at one time. The half flight of stairs to the living quarters tilts to one side, the landing is off center from the door, as if it had been added sometime over the centuries. The windows are recessed in the foot deep walls. I walk through what may have once been a dining area and living area, but is now filled with beds; a sheet hangs over an arch way providing some privacy for a young German couple with their ten-month-old baby (met them in Monjardin). The baby is crying. I walk through another bedroom before I reach my room. There is a small sink in the corner with no running water. All six beds have red flannel blankets on them. I get the top bunk, again!

Down in the court yard of the abbey quiet fills the scene, a humbled pack of Pilgrims lay in the grass basking in the sun, some catching up on journaling, others nursing their wounds. The Laundry hangs on racks; pilgrims keep getting up to adjust them as the sun moves, hoping it doesn’t rain. On the Camino you don’t just do the laundry; you tend to it like a fire that you fear will go out. This is the rhythm of the Pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago. Walk, get a bed, shower, do laundry, let it dry, tend your feet and then think about food.

I stopped to chat with a Canadian couple I met five days back. The wife has seen the local foot guru and is taped from her toes up the back of her calves. We are all in various stages of injury and mending, a sense of waning motivation fills the air.

I went further into town for Saturday evening mass and dinner, Carol was there.

Sunday I woke to a foot so swollen it did not fit into my boot. I went to the kitchen, sat and iced it some more, but the housekeeper came in and start yelling at me in Spanish (naturally) looking at her watch. I didn’t need a translator. The albergues for Pilgrims have a check out time of around 8 a.m. Here check out is 7:45 and this woman was not going to have me stay one minute longer.

I hobbled across town and ran into Greg and Tom from Sacramento. They pointed me to the private hostel they had stayed in where I could get a room for the night. Pilgrim albergues don’t allow you to stay more than one night. Tomorrow I will take the morning bus to Burgos to see a doctor. Now I have surrendered.

I leave you until next week with a Pilgrims prayer. Found Along the Camino heading into Najera.

The Blessings of a Pilgrim
(found along the Camino de Santiago de Compostela)
1.Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if you discover that the Camino opens your eyes to that which is not seen.

2. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, when you contemplate the Camino and you discover it full of names and sunrises.

3. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if that with which most worries you is not to arrive, but to arrive with others.

4. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, because you have discovered that the authentic Camino begins when you end.

5. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if your backpack is emptying of things, and your heart doesn’t know where to hang so many emotions.

6. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if you discover that one step backwards to help another is worth more than 100 steps forward without ever looking to your side.

7. Blessed are you, pilgrim, when you lack words to be grateful for all that surprises you in each recollection of the Camino.

8. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if you search for the truth and you make your Camino in search of who is THE CAMINO, THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE.
9. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if on the Camino you don’t just find yourself, and you give yourself time without haste to not neglect the image of your heart.

10. Blessed are you, Pilgrim, if you discover that the Camino has much silence in the silence of prayer, and the prayer of an encounter with the father who waits for you.

Alejandro Fernandez Barrajon – 2004