Nájera to Santo Domingo de la Calzada
I woke up to a beautiful day. So beautiful, in fact, that I was eager to get on my way in case it started raining again. It was a shorter day today, only 21 kilometers, although a big section of it was straight uphill. No problem. I was getting used to that, and now that I had my new clown shoes on, I was ready to roll.
I wolfed down yet another unmemorable “pilgrim’s breakfast,” wondering if they got bleaker on purpose the further I got into the Camino. Two slices of toast and a small, but not bad, café con leche were all they had to offer, and I had to ask for the second piece of toast while facing down a hostile stare in response. That experience behind me, I put Gumby in my pocket, then packed up Cheater, which by now was far heavier than when I started out, and grabbed three PowerBars in spite of my dwindling supply, as I heard from another pilgrim that there might not be a place to stop and get a snack along the way. I wanted backup in case this was true.
I left Cheater in the lobby, got my pilgrim’s passport stamped, and skipped out the door. I had on my heavy windbreaker because it was cool and quite windy when I left, but shortly into my walk I was dripping in sweat and had to take it off. It seemed like such a nuisance right then, and far more than I wanted to carry all day, so I stuffed it into Pilgrim and continued.
Holy Mother God,
Please keep my emotions steady and my heart open so that I can learn what I need to learn today. And please keep me cool.
Amen.
The path was wide and lined with flowers of all colors, but mainly bright red poppies. That, of course, led me to start singing “I’m Off to See the Wizard” once again. With my clown shoes on, I felt like the Scarecrow, as opposed to the Tin Man I was feeling like yesterday.
Walking for so many hours in silence was the best meditation of my life. There were long passages where I found I wasn’t thinking at all. I was simply present to the experience at hand. In many ways I had to be. Like following Blue’s Clues, the detective show my kids watched when they were young, the Camino demanded my full attention. If I didn’t give it, I might miss a pilgrim scallop sign or yellow arrow pointing the way, and wander off in the wrong direction. Fortunately, I was now developing a sixth sense about the path, so I caught myself earlier and earlier when I drifted, with only minor backtracking necessary to correct my course. Yet, every step counted.
As a result of not thinking, my heart was becoming lighter. So many of the things that I came to the Camino burdened with were slowly starting to shake free as either I dropped them or my perspective changed. The most significant change I experienced so far was how my anger and pain over my relationship with my father had given way to nothing but pure neutrality. I felt his spirit traveling with me and talked to him as I walked.
“Dad, I know you are with me,” I said. “I can feel your spirit and, if anything, it is what I learned from you about going after things rather than shrinking away from them that gave me the courage and incentive to make this pilgrimage in the first place.”
I thought of my father’s faith. He was a man of few words, but he had a deep faith in God, and he instilled that faith in me. One thing my father never did was complain. He met whatever came his way with quiet resolve. He steadily did what he had to do. With seven kids, and all the trouble we brought to him (and it was a lot), he still got up every day, got dressed in his best clothes, always looked and acted the part of a gentleman with others, and worked hard.
He had strong values, and working was one of them. He had no illusions that life was supposed to take care of you. It was what you made of it, according to him. I never gave it much thought when he was alive, but my dad never went to college, and didn’t read much because he was working all the time. And yet, people respected him. They treated him well and held him in high regard.
He sold tractors and farm equipment for a living and, as low-key as he was, his steady way with customers won him the salesman of the year award year after year, clear up to the point of his retirement. He was consistent and thorough and took care of his clients with the same devotion he took care of his family. If anyone had a problem, he worked tirelessly to fix it. His customers loved him for that and were loyal to him year after year.
The more I walked, the more I realized just what a good man my father was and how much like him I was, in both the good ways and a few of the stubborn ones. I rarely complained, and I didn’t like to show weakness. Maybe that is why I never felt supported, whether in my marriage or with friends. Maybe I wasn’t open to much support.
“Dad,” I said aloud. “I am not sure doing it all by myself works for me. I think it’s time I change that.” A cool wind blew by in answer, as if to say, “Good idea.”
As I walked, I noticed the birds were not singing today. All was quiet. The sun was getting hotter and brighter, so I pulled out my Foreign Legion–looking sun hat and put it on, happy for the chance to wear it.
Today was making up for the lack of sun over the past week. Eventually I sat down by the side of the road to cool off. Shortly after I did, a young man from Austria came down the path and said, “Buen Camino,” and then asked if he could sit with me. I was surprised by his outgoing and forward nature, but welcomed him immediately. “Of course. Please do.”
We talked for a moment, and he asked me how it was going so far. I told him I was, surprisingly, moving along and still in the game, although a little worse for wear because of my toes. He nodded in sympathy. Then I asked him the same question. He said it was okay so far, but he hadn’t expected such cold weather and said it was a bit difficult, as he didn’t have a coat. Without so much as a second thought, I asked him if he wanted mine.
He looked at me as if he misheard me. “Excuse me?”
I asked again if he wanted my coat. “I have a coat I don’t want to wear anymore. You can have it.”
“It’s warm today,” he said, “but that may change.”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s almost June,” I answered as I reached into Pilgrim, pulled it out, and handed it to him.
Surprised, he said, “This is a very nice coat. Are you sure you want to give it away?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “And if you don’t need it, give it to someone else.”
He was delighted and stuffed it into his backpack.
I then asked if he needed any shoes, looking at the high-top Converse sneakers he was wearing.
“What do you mean?” he asked, laughing.
“I have many pairs of shoes as well. Do you want one?”
He laughed even more, pointing to his very large feet. “You Americans are so kind,” he said, “but I doubt your shoes are big enough for my feet.”
I had to agree. “Too bad,” I said. “I would have gladly given you a pair.”
“You are so generous.”
“Well, I could say that I am, but I really don’t want to carry extra things. If you take it, it’s one less thing for me to carry.”
“I see your point. Well, in that case, I am happy to accept the coat in order to lessen your load.” Then after another moment, he stood up, lit a cigarette, and said, “Buen Camino, and gracias,” and started walking again.
“Keep moving forward,” the Camino urged me on. Even when I wanted to sit for a while, it wouldn’t let me.
Soon I was getting a bit frustrated with my new shoes. They allowed small pebbles on the path to get inside the shoe and lodge under my socks. I was in denial that this was happening for a few hours, as I was so happy that I had relief for my toes, but eventually denial wasn’t working. I had socks full of rocks, and it was as annoying as hell.
Every 15 minutes or so, I had to stop, take off my shoes, and shake them out.
“Why didn’t that salesman tell me this was a possibility?” I grumbled. “He knew this would happen. I can’t believe he didn’t warn me.”
Then, “If I create my own experience, what on earth do I hope to gain by all this constant aggravation? It is not like I didn’t put effort into getting the proper footwear!”
I kept walking.
“Okay, fine. I should have broken in my boots, but still … this is too much!” I complained.
“So much for your belief that you don’t complain much,” I could feel the Camino respond to all my whining.
That silenced me for the time being.
I walked for almost four more hours in my clown shoes before I pulled them off for good.
“You guys are worthless!” I cursed at them. “You are fired!”
I shook out the countless small pebbles inside and stuck my shoes in my backpack, considering throwing them away on the spot instead. I put on my old boots once again. “Good thing I had the intuition to bring these along. Another four hours of tiptoeing through the pebbles is enough to drive me crazy!”
“Ow!” My boots hurt my toes. But I had no choice. At this rate, stopping every few minutes to shake out my shoes, I would not arrive before dark.
I grabbed my poles, pulled myself back onto the path, and kept moving forward.
Soon the path led me into what looked like a modern-day ghost town. There were many new houses dotting the landscape, and eventually, a brand-new golf course, but they all looked abandoned. It was weird—there were no people in sight. “How did this get here, in the middle of my medieval journey?” I wondered.
I imagined it was the tragic economy crippling Spain that had buried this town. But even such a logical explanation did not make the place any less strange. Walking the Camino takes you far out of this world and pulls you into another, far more mystical, more mysterious reality. To walk out of this mystical frequency and into a ghost town such as this felt like a time warp commercial break in the middle of my alternate reality, life-changing spiritual movie.
Escaping the ghost town, I entered the last stretch of the day, which took me along the highway. I had to play a bit of dodge ball with the trucks and cars whizzing down the road at European-driver speed. Once free of that craziness, I turned back onto a natural path, and soon started winding my way into Santo Domingo.
The closer I got to the center, the more charming I could see this medieval town was. Linked to this town was also one of the more romantic legends about the Camino. Apparently, a couple and their son entered this town on their pilgrimage and stayed at an inn. The daughter of the innkeeper made advances to the son, who rebuked her. She was so incensed by this that she hid a silver goblet in the young man’s backpack and told her father he’d stolen it. The father had him caught and hanged. His parents, oblivious to his fate, continued on to Santiago and on their return found their son hanging on the gallows, but still alive. They ran and told the town sheriff, who was just sitting down to dinner, that their son was not dead, to which the sheriff replied that their son was about as alive as the chicken he was about to eat. Just then the cock stood up from his dinner plate and crowed. This miracle was not lost on the sheriff, who rushed to the gallows and freed the son and gave him a full pardon. This miracle was attributed to Santo Domingo, the tireless saint who worked his entire life to improve the route for all pilgrims, as well as build hospitals to care for them. This fable seems a bit far-fetched, given the amount of time it would take to get to Santiago and back, meaning two months or more, but I liked it anyway.
I felt my desire to heal my heart by walking across an entire country asking for forgiveness for my past karma was a bit farfetched as well. But I believed in the power of my journey. Maybe that is what this chicken fable was really all about. That things can heal in what seem to be utterly impossible ways to the logical mind. That’s what miracles are. There was chicken memorabilia in the windows of the little shops all over town. I bought a chicken postcard to help me keep the faith in experiencing a miracle of my own.
I walked a little farther and saw the magnificent Santo Domingo Cathedral, which I went directly to before even looking for my hostel. Walking inside took my breath away. I was especially moved by the complexity and beauty of the altar at the front of the church. It reflected both the power of the medieval church and the power of the Camino. I could hardly fathom how it was built so long ago, and what it took to build it in terms of manpower and money. The first version was completed in the 12th century, the last in the 18th.
The cathedral awakened in me the incredible depth of history the Camino contained. I felt the energy of the Knights Templar once again, and of the secret societies in the Church that oversaw the building of this edifice. The Camino was not only the path of forgiveness: it was also a path of great intention. To make this pilgrimage, one had to have great faith, as the challenges medieval pilgrims met along the route were often life threatening. I’m not sure why, but it felt in that brief moment as though this was not my first time here. Like a wave of energy descending over me, somehow I knew in my soul I had experienced this all before.
I sat for a while and then felt called outside. For the first time since I started the Camino, I didn’t feel like rushing to my hostel, and instead went and joined a few other pilgrims I had met along the way to share a glass of white wine in the sun in the town square. The atmosphere was lively, everyone happy that the sun had shone all day and that it was warm outside, not to mention, of course, the feeling of accomplishment that comes with once again making it to our day’s destination.
I relaxed and listened to the conversations swirling around me. At my table were two nuns from Mexico and one from Canada, as well as a Jewish man from New York who showed up to see what all the fuss was about. I also saw my young Austrian friend, whose name I learned was Eric, and a woman from Holland named Petra whom I had seen off and on since I began in St. Jean. We were all in a festive mood and drank wine and ate olives for about an hour. And then suddenly, the wine hit us all en masse and everyone started to leave, headed to their night’s resting spot until dinner, including me. I was actually impressed that I had the energy to sit and enjoy everyone as I had. Usually I am so eager to rest that I just go straight in and take a nap. Today I wasn’t tired at all.
My hostel seemed about as loveless as the town square was lovely. It had a small shower and a single bed, but I didn’t need anything more than that. I took off my boots, took a shower, and then took a nap, knowing dinner was still hours away from being served anywhere in town. After eating all those olives, I wasn’t even hungry. In fact, I decided that I just wanted to sleep until morning. So I ate a PowerBar and was out like a light.