It's Only Stuff

Camino, Chapter 16

This is my serialized story of walking the Camino de Santiago across Northern Spain with my sister-in-law. If you’d like to start at the beginning, click here.

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We should have stayed an extra day. Or, at least, lingered in Burgos. Leaving the city, both Marlene, my intrepid sister-in-law, and I feel rushed. We share our sense of this being the wrong thing to do as we slowly walk out of the city in the darkness of an early Monday morning - what with leaving unexplored so many historic attractions in one of Spain’s most gothic cities. To be honest, taking the morning to buy new hiking poles for Marlene is exactly what we should be doing.

We had arrived mid-afternoon the day before, a Sunday when so many shops, ancient churches, and museums were closed, and, now, though we are free to do so, we aren’t taking a day (or morning) off from our pilgrimage. This is due mainly to three reasons: 1) the schedules we follow, as printed in our guidebooks, outline a 31-day calendar for hiking the Camino, 2) the actual reservations we made a couple of days earlier for the next three nights will be at upcoming hostels with tight-for-bed space, and 3) the length of our walk planned for today - 19 miles - is formidable.

Of course, we could have simply said “No!” - put down the Camino guidebooks and, yes, stopped - add a second day to our reservations in Burgos, as well as call ahead and adjust our reservations with the hostels. But, the only reason I can think of why we didn’t is that stopping goes against our Camino mindset. In two weeks we have become ingrained to walking westward every day - it’s hard to imagine taking a day off. Maybe in Leon, our next big city only a week away, where we haven’t booked beds as of yet, we could spend time enjoying the museums, cafes and other attractions. We appease each other by agreeing to take a day after we cross the Meseta.

Ahhh, the Meseta. As we start our third week, we are finally reaching the Meseta, a high plains plateau in the middle of Spain that extends like an empty table top for hundreds of miles in all directions (Madrid, way to the South, is, in fact, at the center). At an elevation of 3,000 feet - separate and apart from some mountains and hills - we will be walking on this desolate, high desert-like plain for the next six to seven days. The Meseta has been ever-looming before us, and as much as we are sorry to leave Burgos, the Meseta, that cruel mistress calling us, awaits, and today, we will finally be in her embrace.

Hiking out of Burgos takes nearly an hour and showcases a number of metal pilgrim stands that, we’ve read, have been decorated by individual Burgos artists. More of these all along our Way from Day One would have been wonderful. As it is, it’s a nice departure gift from Burgos.

Crossing the Arlanzon River is also sad, as the day before we were in no mood to enjoy the river and the long riverwalk into the city - a paved path where we encountered hundreds of Burgos’ citizens, many with their babies and young children, or their elderly parents, or their friends either power walking or discussing the issues of the day - all appeared to be locals enjoying a warm autumn Sunday. However, for us, we were too tired and too discombobulated after having been repeatedly lost all morning to enjoy the walk or the company of Burgos’ pleasant citizens around us.

I must admit, as I walk back into the Spanish countryside, I am still irritated with the Camino’s alternate markings into Burgos we encountered yesterday and now, I am frustrated with having to leave the city so early in the morning.

A couple of hours into our day, we hear a shout behind us. Turning, we see Emanuel, our Croatian savior from yesterday coming up upon us. He is riding a bicycle. He tells us he has chosen to cross the Meseta by bike rather than taking the time to walk. It turns out, he says, you can rent a bike to be delivered to your hostel in Burgos and drop it off at your hostel in Leon. A perfect, one-way ride, while also sending your luggage/backpack to the hostels ahead.

It’s nice seeing Emanuel and we are sorry we won’t be with him again. Riding his bike, he will be days in front of us and will arrive in Leon several days before we get there. We tell him he will always be part of our Camino story, and he gives us a thumbs up!

Midmorning, we encounter a tiny church that intrigues us. So many other pilgrims have stopped here; we almost decide to walk on, but the small facility looks like it could be a nice respite from the road. Like at other churches we encounter in the countryside, we take off our backpacks and leave them alongside others at the entrance, and slowly we go inside, adjusting to the dim light of candles.

An older, dark-haired nun welcomes us individually to her church. But she does more than just that. She softly cups Marlene’s face in her hands and, then, mine, and offers us each a blessing. Through the energy of her hands, it feels like she is absolving us of our earlier frustrations and transgressions, and provides us with the sense of the “holy” contentment by which she lives. She is like a Mother Teresa and, for each and everyone of us coming into the church, she seems to accept who we are and seeks to assuage our hearts, no matter the burdens we carry.

Marlene is crying when we say goodbye and leave the church. Together, in the courtyard with our backpacks still resting near the door, we hug. It’s not a forced hug, but a natural one that comes with witnessing someone extraordinary.

“I know,” Marlene says, “I now know what it feels like to be in the presence of an Angel on earth.”

I, too, even as cynical as I can be and as snarky as I have been all morning, feel like I had been uplifted by the nun and the presence of magic lingering in the church.

Marlene says, “It's the spirit of God.”

It would be nice if our day ended there, but, shortly thereafter, we are back with our packs climbing into a treeless, dusty landscape. Now, hours later, in the hot afternoon with the sun bearing down on us, we know we have reached the Meseta. Here in this afternoon of flat landscapes, we walk for over twelve miles before reaching the small town of Hontanas. Hidden away in a tiny gulch of a valley, Hontanas appears out of nowhere, and we are relieved to be done walking.

Later still, in our hostel Marlene engages with a group from South Korea that we have bumped into on, at least, three other occasions during the past week or so, and, in coming together in Hontanas, she introduces us and we subsequently sit together and enjoy each others’ stories. As the afternoon progresses, in addition to the South Koreans, we also meet pilgrims from Germany, France and Brazil, and that night we are all served paella for dinner from an incredibly large pan, and it is the perfect pilgrim meal to share with each other.

In a way, I realize while lying on my bed after dinner, Marlene having gone off to Mass - I realize that Marlene, Emanuel, the Koreans, and even the Meseta and the Camino, itself, are helping me break down internal barriers and opening up an acceptance in all things, of discovering within the struggle, surprising and miraculous moments. We can get lost, but we can also be found. We can have regrets each day, but we can also take tremendous satisfaction in who and what we encounter.

When I think back to my word for this pilgrimage, this word I am supposed to have internalized by now, fourteen days later, I am reminded how much further I need to go, especially given my mindset these past few days and, even more significantly, how much time on this pilgrimage I have wasted.

The beautiful nun in her tiny nook of a church cupped my face and, with eyes shining of inner peace, placed a thin necklace of the Virgin Mother over my head. Leaning in towards me, she whispered her blessing, “Let it go. God is with you. Let it go.”

Lying in my bed, I so want to let it go.

I am reminded of yesterday, of Marlene saying, “It’s only stuff. It’s only stuff.”

Marlene. Her word for the Camino is “surrender.” This morning she cried when we left the church. She, who is so accepting. She understands the spiritual nature of this pilgrimage, and I can see on a daily basis she has surrendered herself to God.

Why is it so hard for me to embrace my word, to find within a sense of serenity?

Click here to read the previous chapter.