Frómista to Carrión de los Condes
I woke up to another freezing-cold but sunny day, and looking out my window, I could tell the wind was blowing, but not as intensely as it had been the past two days. I was tired today and didn’t feel like walking at all. “I wish I could take a taxi to Carrión,” I said out loud. But Gumby was staring me down, as if to say, “You wouldn’t.”
“Fine,” I snapped back at him as I threw off my sleeping bag. “Don’t guilt-trip me!”
I stood up and tested my feet. They hurt all along my arches. The hostel I was staying in was fairly modern and for some reason I had been checked into a handicapped-equipped room (Camino humor, no doubt). So I shuffled to the shower, where I was able to sit down on a chair placed in there and relax under a stream of hot water until I woke up.
I dried off, still feeling tired, but resigned to keep moving. I then peeled my socks, underwear, and wool shirt from the luxurious towel heater on the wall where I had placed them after I rinsed them out last night. They were toasty warm and felt wonderful, helping me shake off the final remnants of resistance I had been feeling.
Before my socks went on, I doctored my feet with medical tape and downed extra arnica pills to ease my pain. That did help some. I put some ibuprofen into my pocket to take with my breakfast for added relief. I threw everything into Cheater; grabbed my little purse, which held my passport, credit cards, my pilgrim’s passport, my list of hostels and phone numbers, and some euros; threw it into Pilgrim; and took everything to the front desk.
While I’d had a great time at the party last night, I looked forward to my solitude and silence once again today. I wanted to listen to my heart and to God instead.
Holy Mother God,
I am listening. Please guide me this day.
Amen.
Over the past few days, I’d begun noticing a significant difference in vibration between my ego mind and my spirit. Whenever my ego was reflecting on my life, I felt like such a victim, so isolated, rejected, alone, and unloved. It roared with indignation, taking offense at so much and so many, some of whom I had not even seen for years. It found fault with everyone and blamed all who were in my path for my unhappiness. It was amazing, actually, to observe my ego in action.
I knew my ego was not my true spirit, but never before had I recognized how destructive it was. It didn’t want resolution. It didn’t want to be peaceful and filled with compassion. It certainly was not forgiving. Quite the opposite. My ego wanted to feel hurt, to suffer, to see others as enemies, and to retaliate.
Fortunately, the more I walked, the less interested I was in my ego. In fact, I was getting to the point where I could only listen to it for a short while before I got bored with it, noticing it sounded more like a broken record than anything else.
I saw how it prevented me from moving forward and tried to suck me back into drama and suffering. I saw how it sabotaged my effort to reach more peaceful ground. As I walked I also observed my ego trying to regain control, as it knew it was losing its influence on me fast.
It was trying to do everything in its power to seduce me back down the rabbit hole of pain. It threw negative thoughts, like poison darts, into my head, telling me that Patrick wanted to hurt me, that my divorce was going to be awful, that I had better watch my back, that I would be the laughingstock of so many people who would call me a failure. It wouldn’t give up in its desperate attempts to have me in its fearful grips once again. But unlike when I first began walking the Camino, these thoughts simply didn’t stick anymore. They rose and fell away, at first like exploding fireworks in my brain, but now more like weak fireflies at dusk. They were there, but they had no power over me anymore.
I breathed deeper and felt more alive than ever. The air was cold earlier this morning, but now it had warmed up quite a bit and I had to take off my jacket, then my wool shirt. I ended up walking in only a T-shirt, as I was in a full sweat.
The path was gentle and flat. I thought about my brother Bruce for the first time in a while. I felt his presence all morning long. He wasn’t a traveler like I was. He often thought I was crazy for traveling so much and told me so. I almost bought him a T-shirt from a shop a few towns back because that was my tradition with him. He liked the T-shirts I brought him and he looked forward to getting them from me. I was already at the checkout counter when I remembered that he was dead. I couldn’t believe that I had totally forgotten. I missed him and was sad that I couldn’t give him that T-shirt.
I enjoyed the walk and sang hymns and songs, and talked to my Higher Self and my ancestors, as I felt they were close to me. I knew I was being escorted on this pilgrimage, and I was grateful for their unseen support. I was recovering my spirit. I was releasing what was not serving me and felt my difficult karma with relationships was coming to an end. I wasn’t there yet. But I knew I was well on my way.
Eventually I entered a town known for its Templar cathedral. I could see it in the distance. It was a massive structure, and I could feel the power that built it. I paused and looked at it for a few moments. I remembered this place somehow. Not as a place where I had lived. But as place I nevertheless knew well.
As I got closer, I noticed a plaza directly in front of the cathedral filled with pilgrims eating lunch and drinking coffee. I walked over to the wall surrounding the cathedral, set down Pilgrim and my walking poles, and began to ascend the stairs.
It was an eerie feeling, a complete déjà vu experience. I was overwhelmed with a strange sense of nostalgia as I looked at the carvings all around the entrance. My heart was pounding. I walked in and looked around. It was an immense structure but not necessarily an impressive or beautiful one. There were not many adornments; it felt cold and severe inside.
It was not a place that felt alive. I took a seat and closed my eyes. I wanted to feel it rather than see it. Instead of opening the door to the past, as I had expected it would, I suddenly felt the door was closing. I shook my head to check and see if I was registering the energy correctly.
I was. I prayed, under my breath, to be free of the karma associated with this place and with the Knights Templar. It was all just so heavy. I prayed for all the souls in my life who were connected to this history, and for their freedom and peace. I prayed for my parents, my brothers and sisters, those relationships I had just ended, and for Patrick. I also especially prayed for my daughters that they would forever be free of this soul story or the family patterns that both Patrick and I had brought to them. I prayed for forgiveness from everyone, as well. I yearned with all my heart and soul to be forgiven for any pain I had caused anyone, but especially my precious daughters, whom I knew I had hurt with the ugly drama between Patrick and me. I was so sorry and told them so.
The cords were breaking. I was slowly freeing myself. Something big inside me was shifting. I felt less caught up in the past. I was feeling freer to go forward in peace.
I sat for a while and said a rosary. Then I got up and walked around. In the back of the cathedral was a place in which to put my own stamp in my pilgrim’s passport book.
I walked outside into the blinding sun. I reached over to pick up my poles and Pilgrim, then turned around and saw Camino Patrick sitting at a table at the café, in the sun, smiling brightly at me.
“Hi, Patrick. How are you today?” I asked as I plopped down at this table.
He said he was starting to feel better. He had met two young people from the Hungarian basketball team in the pilgrims’ albergue last night, and they doctored him up with some strange natural remedies that surprisingly worked.
I asked if I could join him, although I already had, which he gladly welcomed, then I went inside the café to order my favorite, an egg bocadillo and a Coke.
I wandered back outside and sat down, asking Camino Patrick if he had gone in to see the cathedral yet. He hadn’t. He didn’t even seem that interested.
I was surprised. My connection to this place was powerful and this was a highlight of the Camino so far for me. He seemed to have no connection to it at all.
We sat for a while, not saying much, and then he asked if I would watch his backpack while he went to visit the cathedral.
He walked off and was back less than five minutes later. I asked what he thought of it, to which he said, “Eh. It’s okay. I wasn’t all that impressed.”
I laughed. To each their own Camino.
We sat for a while and watched as other pilgrims came and went. Soon I saw John with Alexia, as he hobbled down the cathedral stairs. Apparently he had decided to walk today after all, though he looked as though he were in pain. When they saw us they came over to say hi, but said they were moving on. Camino Patrick asked me if we could walk together to Carrión. I hesitated because I really preferred to walk alone and in silence. But we weren’t that far away, so I broke my rule and agreed. A few hours wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Besides, everything on the Camino happens for a reason. I felt walking with Patrick was part of that reason today.
It did help me forget my burning feet to be distracted by his company. We were soon on our way. As we walked I asked him more about his life. He told me that he loved to pray and that it was a big part of his life. He had originally wanted to be a priest, but that plan got sidelined and he ended up becoming an engineer instead. He lived on a small island off the upper peninsula of Michigan, and the parish priest there had ruined his experience of going to church with his caustic energy and rotten, angry attitude.
He decide to do the Camino because he had seen the movie The Way with Emilio Estevez and Martin Sheen a few years earlier and wanted to have the same life-changing experience as the people in the movie had. Then he asked me if I had my rock to carry to Cruz Ferro. I told him I didn’t know about the rock or Cruz Ferro. I hadn’t seen the movie.
“Oh, Sonia, it’s a big part of the Camino,” he said. “It is the place where all the pilgrims leave their burdens behind. You have to find a rock that represents your burdens and carry it to Cruz Ferro so you can take part in that tradition.”
“How big is the rock you are carrying?” I asked him.
He said, “Not too big.”
“I’m going to find a big rock,” I said. “I want to leave all my burdens behind.”
He laughed. “Are you sure you want to carry a big rock?”
“Absolutely! I am transporting my bag, so I can carry a really big rock.”
I looked around as we walked and my eye was soon drawn to a big rock alongside the road. I bent down and picked it up. It was fairly hefty. This was it. This was my rock, and it needed to be from this place on the Camino, at the point of my letting the past go.
“Yes, that is quite a big rock. Are you sure it’s big enough, Sonia?” Patrick asked, amused.
I thought for a moment as I held it in my hand. “Yes, it feels right,” I answered. “This is the one.”
I put it in Pilgrim and we continued on.
We walked and talked—it was a nice change to enjoy Camino Patrick’s company. But not too long after I found the rock, I started feeling lousy, like I had a fever coming on. I started to cough. In no time a massive headache descended upon me and I lost all my energy.
“Oh no, Patrick, suddenly I don’t feel well.”
He could see it in my eyes and said, “Maybe you are getting what is going around.”
“I might be,” I said. “Where are the Hungarian basketball players who helped you?”
“I haven’t seen them since this morning,” he answered. “Here. Let me carry your bag for you.”
“Aw, Patrick, I just put that big rock into it. It’ll be too heavy. You have your own to carry.”
“No, it won’t, Sonia. Let me carry it.”
Because the Camino funk had hit me like a ton of bricks, I was actually grateful to hand off my bag. I suddenly felt weak and was getting chills. Before I gave him my bag, I pulled out all the layers of clothing I had shed this morning and put them back on.
“Thank you so much, Patrick. I am so grateful for the help.”
I was going down fast. It was weird. I was relieved Patrick was there to help keep me moving.
“How much farther do we have to go?”
He said he had just seen a marker a few minutes back that said four kilometers.
The rest of the walk was a blur. We chatted a little, but it was hard to concentrate because of my headache. I felt badly that I wasn’t better company for him.
Patrick was so kind and told me not to worry about it. Eventually we made it to Carrión and he said he needed to find a pilgrims’ albergue in which to stay. I told him the name of my hostel and he said he would meet me there for dinner at 8. I took Pilgrim from him and gave him a hug as he set off to find a pilgrims’ albergue.
I wandered farther into town. It was the most charming town I had seen since Santo Domingo. The streets wound around and it looked inviting to explore, so I was especially disappointed that I felt so lousy all of a sudden.
It was siesta time, and that meant stores were closed from noon to 4 P.M. It was almost four, so I walked slowly because I wanted to go to a pharmacy and get some lozenges for the sore throat I felt coming on. As I walked, I ran into Charles and Lawrence from a few days back and found out they were staying at the same hostel I was, which they informed me was a fantastic refurbished monastery. Charles loved it; Lawrence said it felt a bit heavy.
They had arrived two hours earlier and were now on the way back to town to look around. I had to walk another two kilometers to get there.
Once I arrived at the hostel I was charmed. It was a regal monastery, surrounded by gorgeous gardens. The guest rooms were old monks’ quarters refurbished to elegant standards. The walls were paneled in thick dark wood, polished to a high shine, with marbled floors, and carved windows covered in heavy velvet curtains, which fell all the way to the floor. I was really relieved to be welcomed into such a grounding place, given that I felt so ill.
Dinner was at 8 and it was only 4:15. Great. I could lie down until then. Patrick had promised he would be there tonight and we would eat together. I wondered if he would actually walk the extra way or just stay in town.
By now I was certain I had a fever, so I took some more ibuprofen and hoped my headache and chills would go away. I was so congested I could barely breathe and it became worse when I lay down. So I took my nap sitting upright in my bed. It sort of worked.
I woke up at 8:15 and hobbled down to see if Camino Patrick was waiting for me. He was nowhere in sight.
Disappointed, I walked to the restaurant alone, but then saw Charles and Lawrence sitting in the corner at a table. I was seated at a small table right next to theirs, and the three of us had a wonderful conversation over dinner, in spite of that fact that I felt worse than ever.
Charles offered me a decongestant because I told him I couldn’t breathe. Desperate for relief, I took it. Given I’d had a few glasses of wine, it all but knocked me out right there at the table. I had a long walk back to my room, as the monastery was very big and it wasn’t easy to find my way around. As I wandered the halls I felt I was walking with the ghosts of monks passed. The monastery was dimly lit and had many side doors and strange hallways and corridors.
After a time, I found my door. I was a mess and needed to go to sleep, which I promptly did.