a day of convergence

Yesterday was a day of convergence on the Camino.

As I’ve been walking, I’ve reached out to pilgrims with whom I have walked in previous years.  It turns out that some of them have also come back to walk at the same time.

Friends Christian and Mena were back on the Camino celebrating having fallen in love here two years ago.  We had kept in touch, and they did me the honor of driving out of their way to reconnect and have dinner with me in the tiny town of Villamayor de Monjardin.  What a treat to catch up.

But that wasn’t the only connection yesterday!  Two years ago my South African/Aussie friend Adrie waited hours in the pouring rain for me to arrive in Santiago.  Committed to welcoming me, she was almost as drenched as I was when I finally dragged myself into town to gaze at the cathedral.  This year, she came back to the Camino to do some walking in France and then skipped ahead to do the last several days of walking into Santiago again.  

I was excited for her to arrive earlier this week on a sunny day and was feeling a little sad that I couldn’t be there to greet her.  I also knew that my other South African friends, Franklin and Pam, with whom I had walked with way back in 2007 were arriving in Santiago on their (nearly) yearly Camino walk this week.  On a lark, I sent a photo to Adrie and told her to look out for them. 
It turns out that they ran into each other and started chatting quite by accident after hearing each other’s accents and then realized that they knew me!  They sent me a smiling picture of themselves in front of the famous cathedral, and I was so tickled that the Camino had brought us all together.

I find myself wondering whether I’ll make any enduring connections this year.  For now, people wander in and out of my day—fascinating people.  

no whirring

I spent hours this morning writing letters outside at a café while drinking a giant orange juice and a café con leche and a Cola Cao. I watched Estella wake up and stretch and buy bread.  I did laundry.  I replanned my trip because I have a better Sense of Things. Then I bought 6 envelopes from the librería for 30 centavos. I found the post office and mailed 2 of the letters.  I feel rich with possibility because I have four spare envelopes and four spare stamps. 

I meandered the cobblestone streets and had a slow lunch that featured a very tasty vegan burger. I chatted with an Australian pilgrim and gave bread to a small child to distract her from licking the chair which she was intent on doing to the disgust and amusement of the collection of people who were doting on her.  I had a look at the river and then marveled at the beautiful library where I idly pulled out books to leaf through them.  I wandered around a supermarket to gaze at the various mysterious products 

At 2, the town started to shut down for siesta, so I decided to have a nap as per local tradition. Who am I to interfere with a cultural routine?  

Later, I talked to some folks on the phone and read a bit. I had a strawberry and mango ice cream while I sat on a bench and observed kids kicking balls in late afternoon sunshine of the plaza.  

By the end of the day, I noticed that my brain had stopped whirring like an overheated computer.  Tomorrow I’ll set out again with clean underwear. 

dancing in the streets with flaming bulls

 I had given myself an extremely short walk to a boring town on my second day, so I’m already switching it up. I decided instead to walk 14K, which I worried would be a bit of a stretch, but it ended up being tiring but enjoyable. It also got me to the city of Estella, which is celebrating their patron saint today, the Virgin of Le Puy.  So I spent a chunk of the afternoon dancing in the plaza with some elderly ladies to traditional music. So joyful!  I then took a nap so that I could return to the streets to witness my first toro de fuego, I’m currently watching throngs of children gather around a bull sculpture on wheels that is rigged up with—as of yet—unlit fireworks.  When the woman at the hostal was telling me about it, she looked deep into my eyes and said, “You have to be careful.”  Then she repeated warning three times. That just makes me more curious!  

I watched. It was fantastic. Squealing kids running around after the squealing fireworks spewing from the bull as it was pulled around the square in laps. Totally unsafe. My dad would have approved wholeheartedly. 

side quest

I’m trying to find the right way to navigate the arrows, trying to figure out what my days will look like since I am moving shorter distances.  I know that I want to write one letter per day. So early this morning I sat at a cafe and got very absorbed in doing just that. And before I knew it, more than an hour had passed, and the sun was beating down. I thought I only had a bit more to go until the next town, so I decided to travel a little side route. This route was not on the “Wise Pilgrim” app. And do you know WHY it isn’t there?  Because “wise pilgrims” do not take the scrambling, rocky up up up down down down route that is not pictured on the map.  It really was beautiful. And also fragrant due to the abundance of Scotch broom—a big yellow bush.  Once I finished my side quest, I threw myself spreadeagled on the ground and lay there for a bit before continuing onward m—and upward—in the blazing sun toward my lodging for the night. It was exhausting—and I admit—pretty fun. 

sleeping sickness

My biggest accomplishment over the past two days was that I only puked publicly one time. (Sorry gelato shop patrons).  I’ve been mostly sleeping since noon yesterday trying to settle my stomach and soothe my jet lag.  

Today I took a taxi from Pamplona to Obanos where I had booked for the night. There was no one else at the pilgrim dinner, but I managed to eat a little bit. Off to a weird start.  I hope to actually walk tomorrow!

Número cuatro

 I’m sitting outside in at a cafe in Madrid at the Plaza de Juan Goytisolo near Atocha train station.  I’m eating a delightful salad of mango, avocado, and tomato, which is a bit of a surprise.  The only thing I don’t really like about Spain is the food.  Far too much meat.  

Why am I here in Spain?

The most basic answer is that I’m here to walk on the Camino de Santiago.  

I’ve written some version of this post on three other occasions—in 2007, 2009, and 2024–to explain why I was called to walk as a pilgrim.

In 2007, I walked from just over the border of France to the sea.

In 2009, I started in Le Puy, France then realized I wasn’t all that into speaking French, then took a train to Spain and walked about three days and left after realizing it wasn’t the right thing.

In 2024, I walked about 500 miles from Pamplona to Finisterre to celebrate turning 50.  I wanted to be proud of myself and of my body.  And I was.  I wanted to kick off my 50s feeling great.  And I did.

But then came a tough couple of years at work and a tougher couple of years in the United States.  I don’t feel strong and proud anymore.  Honestly, I feel just the opposite—weak and ashamed.  

After my first Camino in 2007, I said that I didn’t need to come back except in a few defined circumstances.  I wrote this:  “I think it would also be a good place for me to return to if I was trying to work out something difficult in my life.”

So I guess that’s why I’m here.  Two years ago, I arrived ready to walk.  The preparation made me feel powerful.  This time, I haven’t trained.  But I’m ready to walk my way into feeling better about myself and our world.  

It will be a different kind of walk—very short days until I’m feeling more confident.  I’ll have lots of time for reading and thinking and visiting with other pilgrims.  I hope to write, too. (Ask me about my exciting trifold Bluetooth keyboard that works with my phone!)

I don’t really know what to expect.  Maybe it will be the right thing for right now.  Maybe it won’t be.  We’ll have to find out.  It will be an adventure either way!  

numbing

 While discussing the stressful state of the world as it relates to addiction, my friend asked me directly, "Are you numbing yourself?"

Immediately, I declared that I was not.  But just a beat later, I replied, "Well, yes.  I'm eating sugar."

And it's true.  I've been relying on food, especially sweets, when I feel stress.  I'm sure there are subtler and more productive ways to go about handling that tendency, but I've decided to declare Sugar-Free April instead.  Starting tomorrow, I'll have no processed sugar for 30 days.  (Thank goodness it's a short month!)

It's been on my mind to try cutting out sugar for a long time.  I know I have a dependence on it.  I know I eat too much of it.  It wasn't until that conversation with my friend--the association with addiction and numbing--that it came into focus just how much I rely on consuming sweets when I'm upset.  

I expect unpleasant physical withdrawal symptoms.  The internet tells me that could last for weeks.  I really hope not.  It frustrates me to admit that my dependence is so extreme, and it intimidates me to consider the daily difficulty of resisting sugar, but that seems like all the more reason to challenge myself.

Thinking about the role of sugar in my life and how to keep healthy is part of a larger project of taking care of myself and others during this time.  We need to protect ourselves however we can.  We need to take control of what we can.

nature lies

9/11/2001 was a perfect day.  Perfect temperature, perfect skies.  The sun shone warmly on my face as I walked from my apartment in Arlington to the local hospital to see if I could donate some blood to help the victims at the Pentagon just a few miles away from my home where a plane had crashed into the building.  The juxtaposition of the weather and the terrorism was extreme, striking.  How could there be such a beautiful set to a horrific disaster?  It was jarring.

I feel that same disorientation now, too.  While winter's bleak slumber has given way to an explosion of blossoms, American society crumbles more each day.  Nature is taunting us.  Spring should bring renewal and hope to the soul; instead, there is a confusing backdrop of brilliant, flashy colors accompanying the determined destruction of the federal government.  The thrill of growth is offset by the demolition--not slow decay--of our proud institutions. 

blooming

Every year I go to see the D.C. cherry blossoms that encircle the Tidal Basin. Every year, I have to dig around for something pink and appropriate to wear. Not this year!

All month long, I’ve been planning for the joy of seeing this ephemeral delight, which is an especially precious experience given how little joy there is around in the Washington DC area right now.  I bought a preposterous pink hat.  I bought a sparkly pink sequin blouse.  I made a sign.  I was prepared.

I've been thinking a lot about joy and humor in the midst of the consuming and pervasive pressure of the "hostile government takeover."  That song--it makes me laugh.  It keeps me grounded.  Also, I watched Conan O'Brien's acceptance speech of the Mark Twain prize, which was powerful partly because of the expectation that he would make light of the times.  Reviewing Twain's career, he argued that humor is a vital tool to combat oppression.

Arriving before sunrise, I wandered from tree to tree past the assortment of visitors.  Peoplewatching is one of the pleasures of the yearly pilgrimage.  I met up with some friends, and together we marveled at the fluffy blooms.  Some strangers took my picture.  (One of them even sent it along to a friend of HERS who turned out to be a friend of MINE!)  Many people complimented my sign in solidarity.  I did have to explain the meaning of "blooming" to several folks, which was a bit of a challenge without using profanity.

It was a happy morning in the midst of a terrible time.

the death of democracy

    My beloved country is dying.  My country as I know it, as I knew it, as we knew it, is slipping away every day, and the tumult of feelings that accompany that painful death is acute and overwhelming.  
Like a death, it has been coming for a long time, yet, now that it’s here, it feels so sudden and consuming.  How will I live?  How will I go on?

The first amendment is at risk. Federal jobs are at risk. My students are at risk. The arts are at risk. Every single aspect of our health and safety. Every single person I know--even those in other countries--are at increased risk.
The other day when I was describing how I want to spend my summer protesting, I found myself repeating one word:  “exaggerated.”  And one of my friends asked me what I meant by that.  “Why do you keep saying that your feelings seem ‘exaggerated’?”  I guess because I can’t believe anything this massive, any shift this tectonic could be taking place to my home.
My home.

I feel so helpless. I don't really know what to do, but I do know how to write. So I am resolving to do that, just a little bit each day with whatever voice I have left to speak.