Camino de Santiago Day 32: Palas de Rei to Arzua
Uncontrollable laughter, being able to recognise your fellow pilgrim, finding some solitude amidst the noise, and some translation issues
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Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh
Lying in bed last night the absurdity of walking 700km hit me. Just picturing myself walking alone in the Meseta for days on end and how bizarre it was. A similar realisation hit me just a few weeks before I left Vietnam for good, as if something I’d never considered or been able to see before:
“Oh shit – I’ve been living in Asia for three years!”
We’d just turned off the lights in our dorm room and lay in darkness; I began laughing uncontrollably at nothing, laughing to myself before I couldn’t or wouldn’t contain myself any longer and just began laughing out loud, lying on my side, facing the wall, with my eyes closed. My roommates asked what I was laughing at:
“Nothing” I said, honestly.
Not yet ready to go home
Far from the inconvenience of sharing albergue dorms with others, of never having a permanent home, and of living out of a backpack for weeks on end getting more and more as time and the journey progresses, it actually feels more and more natural the longer the trip goes on. My backpack feels organised, like it contains everything I need, and in fact, it might even feel strange not sharing a room when I get home, not having blisters on my feet, not being half (or completely) dirty all the time, and not walking all day, every day.
It is all taking its toll on me though, and I do feel like I’ve been running myself into the ground for some time. There’s never been a perfect night’s sleep, there are many cases of what at home I would call ‘malnourishment’ either from lack of appropriate quality of food, or general exhaustion and imbalances and competing priorities interfering with proper dietary routine. There is also always the allure of spending time with others when at home I would prefer to rest, and so on. Not to mention the daily half-to-full-marathon walks, often through injury and exhaustion, with a heavy backpack and no adequate recovery afforded.
With two days to go to Santiago, I don’t yet feel ‘ready’ to go home. Small things are starting to crystalise in mind though that I am already looking forward to: one of them being the order and structure of routine, of proper diet (and meals of my own creation), and of exercise and the gym. I am looking forward to repairing my depleted body and mind.
But we’re not there yet, so I don’t actually need to be ready yet. I’m still on the road.
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The Noise of the Home Stretch
We are so close to the end and it’s every bit as unknown as before. Your mind begins to fill in blanks with guesses as you approach a particular place or time: made up of personal projections, gueses, fantasies, research, second-hand advice, local knowledge and gossip. On the Camino this all comes through in a timely and appropriate fashion (even though, as always, a lot of it is bullshit); you begin to hear about places in the day or two before you arrive there e.g. the Meseta, the big cities, Galicia, and so on.
The noise is starting to filter in about Santiago now – even in things like how it’s being mentioned now, people are starting to talk about it and what it’s like, and even the possibility of booking accommodation and making plans is starting to surface. There’s also the fact that the road itself is busier with all the additions from Sarria, and your own social circle is the busiest it’s ever been, as you’ve accumulated friends, family and acquaintances all along the way – and it still doesn’t stop, this close to the end. Through the crowds it’s easy to spot the ones who’ve been there all along from St. Jean – call it a wavelength or just heightened intuition, but if you’ve walked from St Jean for the last 5 weeks or so, you can just tell who else has, whether you recognise them or not, whether they’ve a long beard or not, whether they’ve suspiciously clean gear or not. If anything, the addition of Outsiders, Tourists and Beginners on the road, actually heightens the connection when you do meet someone who’s come The Whole Way that you have, and strengthens your bonds. And so the intensity of the journey doesn’t lessen in these final days, as each day still holds the potential for surprises and new experiences, it actually increases as we near the end.
It all remains unknown though. And because it isn’t just the next stop, but the ultimate stop, there’s all the other noise that comes with talking about ‘Santiago’: talk of next plans and return flights and back to work and meeting loved ones and so on, and so forth – which of course due to the infinite variety of backgrounds and circumstances of people here and what they’re returning to, means that literally anything could come up in a given conversation. Along with all the usual noise on the Camino about the unknown, now the spiritual atmosphere is that of a pressure cooker about to pop – literally anything could happen, but the unknown remains as unknown as ever, and still nobody really has any clue what it contains.
It’s important to try to stay open to the journey amidst all the noise. There’s a lot going on these days. It’s easy to think “this is it” so close to the end, but in reality, the chances that you’ll see that you know nothing at all intensifies at this point.
The only way to find out now is to get there.
Just not quite yet.
Here for a Good Time
Out on the road and it’s like Mario Kart, people everywhere, jostling for position on the wooded trail and constantly having to overtake slower walkers to give yourself a bit of space, it’s often safer to a little bit faster that way.
I find solace off the trail in an American style truck stop diner. It’s called the ‘riberia’ which I take to mean ‘rib-house’, and don’t spoil the sentiment by googling the correct answer (Notes: . The lady fills my water bottle with enthusiasm, I sit outside on the road-facing entrance in front of a large gravel yard, listening to the Spanish day-time TV – some sort of cookery show – playing from inside, no-one else in audience to it. A truck is parked up at the end of the yard, over 50 metres away, under an upright hoarding sign, a soothing whizz of cars flying by on the busy highway, far enough removed from me that they pose no danger to my solitude. On the rear side of the building, well out of sight and earshot, is the Camino, the two busy streams running parallel to me but neither disturbing me, I’ve found my sanctuary for the time being.
I write a bit in my book, it’s the only bit of real solitude I’ve had in days now.
I can’t remember the last time I was so content.
Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh (part 2)
A smiley guy leaving the riberia shouts “Hola! Que tal?!”
“Muy bueno!” I respond.
Up the road I meet my Spanish-speaking friends Sergio, from Barcelona, and Victoria from Columbia.
“How are you?” Sergio asks.
“Muy bueno” I respond.
“You know that doesn’t mean ‘very good’?
It means ‘handsome’.”
Ah. This is far too late in the Camino for me to be learning this.
“Oh… well… maybe that’s what I meant…”
Sometimes you just have to laugh.
If you’ve done the Camino, are thinking of doing it, or are just interested in discussing the Camino or travel in general - then please leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.