Day 57

Day 57: Palas de Rey to Boente - 21.3 km

Zurghen the German rolled up beside me and hopped off his bike. "Come on," he said, "let's go for a walk."

The first thing I noticed was his tires. Different than all the other bicycling pilgrims. Because he was doing the entire route on the walking path. Since St. Jean. Including the Pyrenees.

"How long have you been like that?" he asked.

We must have been a site. Me on crutches with an orthopedic boot strapped to my back, and him walking his mountain bike beside me.

I told him I had rested a week and started walking again in Sarria.

"Wow!" he said. I thought he was going to compliment me on walking through the pain or with the crutches or something of the like. But instead he said, "I don't know how you say it in English, but not everyone is strong enough to be quiet for so long."

He reminded me of the doctor who prescribed me to "be more quiet". (I can't imagine why we don't have a direct English translation?!!)

I told him it was hard. That I wanted to give up. That I almost did.

"Only 15% of people who start in St. Jean make it to Santiago in one trip," he said. "Some because of injury, sure, but walking is the easy part. It is the mental challenges, being alone, away from home, in a different place every night, faced with yourself that makes people crack. But you didn't give up."

I understand what he is saying. While the pain was at times unbearable, the thought of it standing in the way of my goal was equally painful. As was confronting the pride, competitiveness, and fear of failure that came with that. And the disappointment I imagined you all having at this journey ending short, or on a bus.

Being quiet is hard! But important if we ever want to have all that we were made for.

Zhurgen told me he had the same challenges--of so much time alone--on the bike. So he takes time each day to walk a little with others. Especially on terrain like the small hills we were currently climbing.

"What about all the big hills?" I asked. Those would be the ones I would walk!

"The big ones you know are coming, so you can prepare in your mind for them. It's the small ones that rock you."

True. I expected the journey to be hard. Mountains to climb. Blisters to endure.

But there has been so much that you can't prepare for. Becoming best friends in a matter of hours. And then having to say goodbye. Hard things happening at home and not being able to do anything about it. Trusting the arrows. And the guidebook. Feelings of accomplishment, disappointment, isolation, and pure joy. All in the same day (or hour!). The thrill and sadness of knowing Santiago will be here by the end of the week...

After Zurghen climbed back on his bike, to arrive in Santiago later today, I met another cyclist who had rested a week in the midst of his journey after having an accident coming down one of the hills. His expected 10 day journey will now be 17.

These last few days have been incredibly insightful. I'm so grateful for all the people who have walked with me, taught me, encouraged and inspired me. I can't believe we are only 46 kilometers from Santiago!!

Day 56

Day 56: Portomarin to Palas De Rey - 24 km (walking!! mostly in rain)

Yesterday I met a man from Lugo (just north of here) at a "rest stop". He had taken the bus from his home to Sarria that morning and started walking. He did the same thing last year and ended up with tendonitis after one day, making the rest of the journey incredibly painful.

"This time I stop," he said, "every hour for 5 minutes."

Tony (torn meniscus) also talked to me yesterday about the importance of "stopping".

"I learned pretty quickly to slow down," he said, "but even when I walked slower and fewer kilometers, I still walked all the way to my destination. But it is also important to stop."

He now takes regular breaks, removes his boots, lingers over lunch, and has found himself enjoying the journey in a different way.

"It's like I'm on holiday," he said. Less like tackling a task or a job.

I decided to test this "stop" theory today.

After my first hour of walking, I didn't want to stop. Because my feet didn't hurt that bad. Which made me think about how we often push ourselves to the breaking point before we allow ourselves to stop, quit a job that doesn't give us joy, end a relationship that isn't serving us, etc., even though we know we should. 

And so I stopped. (And watched the seconds tick by on my watch!)

After the second hour I didn't want to stop because I felt like I had just stopped (an hour of walking goes by very quickly!). As if I hadn't yet "earned" the right to rest. Plus I knew I would be stopping for lunch in less than 2 kilometers. I had something ahead I was pressing toward! 

But I stopped anyway.

After the third hour I didn't want to stop because it was raining. 

We really can come up with any and every excuse not to stop, even when we know we need to!

After the fourth hour, I didn't stop. Because I was walking with a mother and son from the Netherlands and was enjoying their company. 

But by the hour and a half mark I was more focused on looking for a rest area than on our conversation. Because we can't be our best with others if we don't first take care of ourselves.

And then I had to rest again 30 minutes later.

While walking and stopping today I couldn't help but think about all the people I have met who are on Camino in order to "stop".

To take time off between jobs. Or before college. To figure out what comes after retirement. Or how to be a better spouse. To heal from the death of a loved one. Or a divorce.

Admirable. That they would see the importance of stopping, healing, transitioning, preparing.

I never considered my Camino as a "stop". Because all of my changes--job, home, marital status--took place almost two years ago.

But today I asked myself if I had ever honored those changes with a "stop", a time out to mourn, heal, prepare for all that is new. Because going from a status--editor; homeowner; Mrs.--to simply being "Katie", is no small change.

I hope to carry this lesson--remembering to stop--with me for the rest of my life, because I know there are many changes, transitions, new beginnings and endings on the road ahead!

Day 55

Day 55: Barbadelo to Portomarin - 18.2 km ALL ON FOOT!!

Tony from New Zealand reminded me today of the saying: "The Camino provides."

He was telling me about his experience with a torn meniscus a few weeks ago, followed by blisters that had him resting and taking a taxi. All to remind him to slow down.

"That was my lesson too!" I said. "I did so well when Randy was here, but then it--I--fell apart."

"It's easier to make a pact with someone else," he said. "But harder to make one to yourself."

He was walking with Andrea, who he met before he got hurt and just bumped into again today, because now she has a torn meniscus. But her spirits were high, which she attributed to "happening" to run into Tony again.

"I've stopped trying to explain things," Tony said. "It's simply the Camino."

I agree. Or rather, for me, it is God working through those who walk with me and others.

Like the man in the beret, carrying a mandolin, who mysteriously showed up today every time I had to cross a stream, rocky bridge, or muddy horse trail. He silently took my hand each time and led me safely to the other side. And then he would disappear until I needed him again.

And there were the ladies standing outside the 12th century church last night in Barbadelo. They said the church was closed. The priest (I think) was sick. But after assessing my crutches, and comparing them to their own canes and walking sticks (twigs really), one of the ladies pulled a key ring out of her apron and let me in. She busied herself dusting the altar while the other woman kissed Mary and I simply watched and listened.

Later my albergue hostess told me I was lucky. Very very lucky. I didn't even know how lucky. But very very lucky.

I got the impression the church had been closed a very long time.

Evandro from Brazil affirmed this for me over dinner when he said he had tried twice to get in to no avail.

We lingered over our meal, spending 3 hours in conversation. Ending the evening looking at photo albums with Pedro, our host. Another true friend has been added to my Way!

And today I was encouraged over and over by people I walked with, celebrating together only 100 km to go!

In addition to wishing each other a good journey, we now say "See you in Santiago!" And for the first time in weeks, that actually seems possible.

Day 54

Day 54: Samos to Sarria - 13.6 km by taxi; Sarria to Barbadelo - 4.2 km ON FOOT!!

Juan drove me to Sarria late this morning and I asked him to drop me off at the bottom of town. He told me I didn't need to climb all those steps, but I insisted. If the other pilgrims were going to have to climb 50+ steps to get lunch then so was I.

And I was met with a beautiful site at the top... my new friend Aeren from yesterday! She waved me over and introduced me to Kim from Korea who started in St Jean the same time she did.

After teasing me that I don't eat like a pilgrim who takes a taxi, Kim made sure to leave me with these words before he left us: "Whatever you do, don't give up. Even if you are taking the taxi or the bus, don't give up."

I needed this reminder that my attitude was my choice. And I could either finish my journey with joy, or I could end feeling defeated.

So I started walking. Looking for a place to stay in Sarria that felt good to my soul. And found myself leaving town.

I was about to pick up the dirt path when a local woman stopped me.

She told me the terrain was rough, muddy, and very steep. And added, "Es imposible con las muletas."

Impossible on crutches? Impossible?

It was just the kick in the pants I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it.

She was still shaking her head when I started my muddy walk, singing "I can do all things..." (Matthew West, "Strong Enough"), reminding myself that it is in God's strength that all things are possible.

(Don't worry Mom. I had Juan the taxi driver's cell phone number just in case!)

And even if these are my last kilometers, I can honestly say I enjoyed, celebrated, embraced every last muddy, steep, rough step of the day and the pilgrims I had the pleasure to walk with!

Day 53

Day 53: Las Herrerias to Samos by taxi - 39.9 km

I woke up to pouring rain, high winds, and cold temperatures. I felt for my fellow pilgrims, but was equally jealous of the adventure that awaited them. A difficult mountain climb. But by now their legs and feet are strong. Unlike mine.

Victor had offered to take me up the mountain on horseback. But because of the weather, he called me a taxi instead.

David showed up and opened his passenger door. We sat side by side, listening to Rihanna and Eminem, while he gave me the tour of the small towns I would otherwise be walking through. In addition to driving, he also owns a bar, has a graphics design degree, and works for a dentist. And one of these days he will come to America and drive Route 66. He was a good driver (ie. I didn't get car sick), so I would happily ride along for this adventure!

He promised the weather would be better in Samos and he was right. The sun came out and I was able to walk the monastery grounds. I so miss long hours spent outdoors!! I didn't even realize how much.

I went on a tour of the monastery with 20 others, pilgrims and tourists. Despite the fact that half of them spoke English or Spanish (the rest French), no one talked to me. But plenty stared and talked about me.

I'm no stranger to crutches and wheelchairs. And how these are somehow an invitation to be ostracized and ogled.

So I was especially grateful to meet Mazen and Erin on the way to Mass later.

Mazen (Syrian, living in France) and I bonded when he took off his shoes and socks to show me the skin on the bottom of his feet had peeled off in one long strip. I wanted to look away because it was so disgusting, but I also longed to be seen in my hurt. And to do so I must see others in theirs.

Erin and I bonded when she told me she stepped wrong off a curb and sprained her ankle.

"The same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world..." (1 Peter 5:9)

Erin (Puerto Rican, living in Texas) had coffee with me while I ate dinner and explained what I hadn't understood at Mass. The message was about doubting Thomas. And how we can't say we don't believe if we don't give God a chance. Just like seeing a man with long hair doesn't prove that barbers don't exist, seeing humans fail to represent God doesn't prove that God doesn't exist.

Erin and I talked for hours about our journeys, heartaches, and how God has directed us along the Way. It was so nice to connect deeply with someone again about things that really matter!

Day 52

Day 52: Bus from Ponferrada forward to Las Herrerias - 45.4 km, followed by a 1 km walk down into the village

I have to admit. Not being able to walk has been a real struggle.

I never thought I would miss staying in albergues with dozens of sweaty, snoring pilgrims who get up at 6 a.m. But being in a hotel off and on for almost 2 weeks has become very isolating. And even though I see pilgrims every day I don't feel I can relate any longer to the struggle of early mornings and long afternoons, the refreshing taste of a cold beer or the stomach that is never quite satisfied.

And the absolute worst thing you can do when you aren't feeling well is to be alone, feeling sorry for yourself.

It is easy to think that the Camino was easier when Randy was here. So to put things in perspective I have tried to think of all the hard times we went through together.

There was the time we were so tired and sore that we walked right past the albergue and wandered around town for several kilometers before some neighborhood kids helped us find our way back.

And the time I was mentally exhausted. To the point that we literally sat on the side of the road. For hours. In silence. Until Randy offered to carry my sleeping bag. And somehow that made everything better.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions the day we thought he was going to have to go home early because of a work conflict.

There were many nights we spent rubbing each others sore feet. Shoulders. Heads.

I had to get used to resting every day with just one kilometer to go, because his toe always let us know we were close. And he avoided looking at me for a week after I busted the blood vessels in my eyes.

We both wanted to give up in the Pyrenees. But luckily we didn't know each other yet. So instead of comforting one another, we only laid down in the snow in defeat when alone, and worked harder when the other was looking.

And to be honest, the littlest things can feel insurmountable when you are tired. Dinner presented to you with head and scales still in tact. Your credit card being declined. Showers on timers. And no butter for your toast.

And this is just a taste of the hardships we endured. Together.

While this trip down memory lane does make me feel better about my circumstances, it is also a reminder that I need to keep moving forward. Rather than dwelling on the past or the vision I had for the future.

Because I can't change any of that. But I can choose to enjoy the rest of my time here. Even if I have to do it on a bus, with crutches instead of hiking poles, and a different kind of boot!

Day 51

Day 51: Resting (because I know it is the right thing to do) in Ponferrada

From the beginning I have been fascinated by all the cemeteries, monuments, and memorials along the Camino. Tributes to pilgrims passed and others who have found themselves on the Way.

It seems natural to think of endings, seeing as the Camino leads us to the burial site of St James. (Randy and I even promised to spread each others ashes in the Pyrenees.) But what about all the life that has been created along the Way?

I could erect a million crosses with my story alone. Monuments to discovery. The finding of purpose. Self. Love.

The place where I wanted to give up, but didn't. Where I cried my first tears. The cafe where Jeff, Aloys, Randy, and I shared our hearts. Where I felt blissfully complete. The choir loft where I sang Amazing Grace. The albergue where I saw a woman dress a fellow pilgrims feet. Where Gabriel told me about his neighbor, the boy with no skin. And the man from Denmark said saying goodbye is the hardest thing.

And yet, perhaps, we have to die to something before that new life can occur. Materialism. Pride. Selfishness. Fear. Anger. Regret.

My monuments would also include the hard places, where I decided to empty my pack, where Randy and I said goodbye, where Ana told me I couldn't walk anymore, and where Brenda said she could already see the Camino in me.

If I believe this to be true, that I have already found my Way, then it doesn't matter how I get to Santiago. Or when. Tomorrow or next week. On foot or bus or horseback. What matters is that I let my light shine a little brighter with all the experiences and friends and life that have been added unto me every step of the Way.

Day 50

Day 50 - Resting (against my will) in Ponferrada

For the past 50 days I have been singing the lyrics "Make me broken, so I can be healed, Cause I'm so calloused, And now I can't feel, I want to run to You, With heart wide open, Make me broken" (Sidewalk Prophets, "Keep Making Me") as a prayer while I walk.

Stupid, right? Who prays to be broken?!!

Because God always answers prayer. And obviously He would answer me literally on this one!

A while back, Suzie sent me this quote from Kathleen Norris: "Prayer is not asking for what you think that you want, but asking to be changed in ways that you can only imagine."

I thought I wanted to be broken, empty, lonely, like the song says, so that God could heal me, fill me, comfort me. But as soon as I hurt I prayed for it all to go away!!

Not that I shouldn't have. After all, BEFORE Jesus prayed for God's will to be done, He prayed to be spared.

So my challenge today has been to pray for healing, but in the meantime to be open to learning and receiving whatever it is He has to teach me through this. To be changed, healed, and filled in ways I can't even fathom.

And as I consider the prayers I am holding for you, those you shared with me before I left and those that have come to me along the way, I know that God's answers for you are bigger than any prayer I could ever pray. That He will do mighty things in you and through your circumstances.

Please keep sharing your prayers and His answers with me and with others. Because if I have learned anything on this journey it is that we must participate, deeply and authentically, in the communities we are blessed to be part of.

Thank you for being part of my community and for all your thoughts and prayers while I wait "patiently" (try to anyway!) on the Lord!

Day 49

Day 49: Bus ride, 33.6 km back to Ponferrada

This post could actually be titled "what I didn't tell you yesterday".

Which is that when I stopped to ice my foot, it was because I couldn't bear weight any longer. And even though I did feel better walking 5 kilometers beyond that, I stopped in Trabadelo because it had a pharmacy, which I wasn't expecting for another 50 kilometers.

And while waiting for the pharmacy to reopen after siesta (just because it says 16:00 doesn't mean the pharmacist will actually be there before 16:30), a man came up to me and asked what hurt.

I had just been praying for God to give the doctor/pharmacist wisdom and understanding when this man appeared. He looked Asian, wanted to speak German, but his English was far better than he gave himself credit for.

"Can I look at your foot?" he asked. "I am doctor."

So right there on the side of the road I received a medical exam.

"Look how swollen. No walking for one week. And go to hospital. You need x-ray. You understand? Walk tomorrow and it fracture, if not already."

By the time I had my shoes back on he had disappeared. Replaced by the pharmacist, who gave me a 20-day supply of Diclofenac for 3 euros.

Which is how I ended up on a bus today to the nearest hospital, back in Ponferrada (remember this town?? Where I took Rowena to the clinic!). It took an embarrassingly short 20 minutes and 2 euros to get there.

Peter told me last night about having to take a cab back 20 kilometers because he forgot his passport at the previous albergue. How humbling it was to make the roundtrip in 30 minutes when he had "slogged" all day to do it on foot.

Humbling indeed! It was ages ago when I came through Ponferrada!!

Long story short, I didn't get an x-ray. But the doctor did say I have an inflamed tendon in my foot. He gave me meds to take 3 times a day. Made me a soft cast from foot to knee. And I have instructions to "be more quiet" (don't walk) for "as long as it takes". Which the nurse says could be days or weeks.

The cab driver who picked me up from the hospital said I needed to stay somewhere nice tonight, to feel better. He drove me to the castle, walked me across the street to a hotel, and told the receptionist to take good care of me.

So here I am, across the street from a castle, figuring out my next steps, which apparently don't involve walking...

Day 48

Day 48: Villafranca del Bierzo to Trabedelo - 10.2 km

The morning manager was waiting for me when I came downstairs today.

"I'm ready!" I said, limping down the stairs.

"Sort of," he indicated.

We laughed and said goodbye. He could tell my spirit was high, and that can make all the difference.

At breakfast a Canadian woman told me she had taken a taxi 40 kilometers yesterday to get here and she felt all the better for having rested and spent the night at this "splendid" hotel. (It was only a one-star, but even that is a step up from most albergues.)

To add to my high spirit, I went to the post office and shipped 3.5 kilos of my belongings to Santiago. The content of my backpack is now down to almost nothing. It may not sound like a lot of weight to lose, but every pound off my back and feet make a difference!

I chose to take the "easy" road today, walking alongside the highway rather than climbing the optional 1-3 mountain passes. Not knowing how my feet would fair, I decided to stick close to bars and albergues in case I needed ice or a taxi or bed. And even though I didn't get the beautiful mountain top vistas, the walk beside the mountains was still breathtaking. And allowed me time to stop and ice my foot while enjoying a salad for lunch at a little bar along the way.

Even though I was just warming up, I decided to stop for the night in Trabedelo, where the local vegetarian restaurant offered great accommodations, food and company.

Including Peter, a pastor/church planter/missionary/writer from England who just retired from a job with a Christian nonprofit. He is walking the Camino to take a break before having to figure out what is next. "I thought I would think about it here," he said, "but I don't think much at all." I find this to be true as well. Hours and kilometers can pass without any concern except for the taking of each step.

We shared memorable moments and people who have made our Camino. The diabetic who passed out on the first day on the side of the trail. The man who chomped his teeth in his sleep. The Norwegian who introduced himself as Dolphin because no one could pronounce his real name. The woman who went home from Leon with a fractured heel.

Peter is a true adventurer, with a supportive family who will meet him in Santiago in two weeks to celebrate. He knew I was hurting and reminded me that it isn't HOW you get to Santiago that is important. It's that you take time to give and receive, cherish and celebrate the journey, all along the Way.

Day 47

Day 47: Resurrection Sunday

Today was a day of reflecting on all I have to be thankful for.

Being in a country that honors the message of Easter in such a grand way. Allowing me to worship and pray and remember publicly the One who made it all possible.

The support of loved ones, family and friends, who show me acceptance and understanding, forgiveness and grace every day.

Spending 4 days in this beautiful town, time enough to see familiar faces, know my way around without a guidebook, and differentiate the chiming of the church bells (which means the time, which is alerting me that I have 30 minutes to get to church, which is a celebration chime, etc.).

My health. That even though my foot continues to pain me, it is minor compared to the health battles that others face in this life.

The hotel staff who have cared for me this weekend, from making me breakfast to being good company to lecturing me about taking only a short walk if I insist on leaving on Monday. They, too, have become part of my Camino family.

I feel especially grateful to have taken this time off to participate in the life of a community and give Easter the focused attention it is due.

I pray each one of you also had a blessed Easter, filled with gratitude and joy and love!

Day 46

Day 46 – Holy Saturday

“And they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment.” Luke 23:56

Every journey, every Camino, every calling is its own.

Many people I have encountered have felt led to walk to Santiago. Others beyond Santiago, another 87 kilometers, to Finisterre. Or even a day’s walk beyond that to Muxia.

Not everyone is called to Santiago, however. Some are simply called to walk.

Some started in France. In St. Jean Pied de Port, like me. Or further away. In Le Puy. Or Paris.

Others began in Spain. Roncesvalles or Pamplona. Burgos or Leon. And some will begin in Sarria, to walk the last 100 kilometers.

Many do the Camino in stages. One hundred kilometers or one week at a time. Over the course of a few or many years.

Others follow the guidebook recommendations and walk from St. Jean to Santiago in 33 continuous days.

I’ve met people who walk far faster than this. And many, like me, who go much slower.

My own calling was to walk for Lent.

I thought it would take me to Santiago. Or Finisterre. Or Muxia. I thought I would have “arrived” by now. But I find myself 185 kilometers short of Santiago. Resting in Villafranca del Bierzo. Because that is what the Scriptures say happened between Jesus’ Crucifixion and Resurrection. Rest.

After Good Friday, a day of processions and services, holiday crowds and late night music, I welcomed a day of quiet. Both outside in the streets and inside my own mind.

Because the Camino is a difficult journey. But not just on the body. It challenges you mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. And after 46 days I needed a break. In body, mind, and spirit.

So that I would be prepared for the celebration of the new life that comes with Resurrection Sunday.

Here they say ‘the authentic Camino begins when it is completed’. So even though Easter marks the end of Lent, my journey has just begun.

I’ve decided to stay in Spain for another 2 weeks. To listen more deeply to what it means for me to live the Camino.

I will continue to walk. But by now I know (and I hope you do too!) that the Camino is so much more than walking.       

Day 45

Day 45 – Good Friday

It was my hope to be in Santiago for Easter weekend (along with tens of thousands of other people). But nothing about this journey has gone according to plan. So I have found myself in Villafranca del Bierzo instead.

In medieval times, pilgrims who couldn’t make the long trek all the way to Santiago could receive their absolution in Villafranca del Bierzo. By passing through the church's la puerta de pardon (the door of pardon, a north facing door). 

Perhaps it was Divine planning for me to be here all along!

With 3 churches, 2 convents, 1 monastery, and a castle, plus everyone in town being off work for holiday, there is a lot of activity this weekend!

The morning started with two processions, one on either side of town, meeting in the central park. I was on the side of town that followed Jesus carrying His cross, while the other side of town followed His mother Mary.

I have never experienced anything like this before. The first thing that caught my attention was how quiet everyone was. I guess I had envisioned a “parade” instead of a “procession”. But there was no band. No jeering or cheering or weeping. Even the children were quiet.

(Watching the news I see that the celebrations are unique in every town. Some are loud. Some are quiet. Some are elaborate. Some are simple. And each procession is to remember a different Holy Week event, so even in the same town they can be different from one day to the next.)

I wondered what that day, so long ago, must have been like. Was it hot? Did it rain? Was it simple, elaborate, quiet, or loud? 

Did Jesus' feet hurt anything like mine?

And what was it like for His followers? Did they follow quietly? Confidently? Naturally? Because as His replica passed by this morning, we all fell silently in step behind.

In the evening I went to Mass. Jesus hung on the cross at the altar, and after all of the gospel versions of the crucifixion were read, we were invited to come forward and kiss His feet.

As I stood in line I thought, “I’m not worthy to touch the feet of Jesus.”

I looked around to see if anyone else was looking at me, thinking the same thing. But as I drew nearer I was reminded that it was His being there, on the cross, that made me worthy. Not anything I have done or could ever do. And when it came my turn to approach, no one turned me away.

I’ve loved experiencing this acceptance from the church here in Spain.

I’m reminded of my first Mass. In Roncesvalles. I was fresh off the Pyrenees. With my pants still duct taped to my boots. Mud and snowmelt pooling at my feet. And still I was invited to come forward to receive the priest’s blessing.

Last week at the cathedral in Astorga, the priest’s acolyte wore jeans and a sweatshirt to perform his duties. And I didn’t hear a single person whispering about it.

And here today they’ve invited me to kiss the feet of Jesus.

After Mass was over, another silent procession formed to follow the crucified Jesus across town. I fell in step with the others, but quickly sensed discomfort.

The man behind me took my arm and pulled me aside, out of the procession. “No mujeres,” he said. And I realized why I had felt so out of place. I was the only woman in the line.

An older woman took me from him and pulled me even further from the procession. “No mujeres,” she repeated.

“Por que?” I asked. Why couldn’t I follow Jesus when I so desperately wanted to?

“No se,” she said, unable to give me a clear reason, yet simultaneously surprised that I would even question the tradition. “Hombres andan con Jesus. Mujeres miran.” The men walk. The women watch.

She could see that I was either going to argue or cry, so she attempted to distract me with questions about where I was from, what languages I spoke, if I was a pilgrim. A woman who I had seen at lunch with her young family came over and told me there would be a beautiful procession later tonight that I could walk in if I wanted. Several teenage girls stood close, listening to the conversation.

I’m actually very traditional in my religious beliefs. And I know the Scripture that says the women “watched from a distance”. But being asked not to participate in the procession stirred up a million emotions in me.

Embarrassment at being corrected in front of the entire village. Confusion because I had just felt so accepted by Jesus and the church. Alone (as if I needed another reminder that I am a stranger here).

And frustrated. Because I dropped everything to follow Jesus during this season of Lent. Like James the apostle, whose footsteps I walk in, who went to the ends of the earth because Jesus asked him to.

Day 44

Day 44 – Cacabelos to Villafranca del Bierzo – 9.5 km

As I was leaving Cacabelos this afternoon I took a short detour, following the commotion to the town square. What I discovered was an abundance of small children getting ready to run a 20-meter dash.

Kids bring so much joy to the world! And Spain has been no different.

I was reminded of the twin boys Randy and I met in Estella. Their dad told us to speak English to them because they were learning Spanish, Basque, and English in their kindergarten class. They were fascinated by our placemats (which only pilgrims get) and our accents.

And I thought of the young girls in Espinal who were thrilled when we asked them to stamp our pilgrims passports. (I blame them for our enthusiasm to get anyone and everyone to stamp our passports from there on after!)

I remembered the groups of teenagers who “interviewed” us in Pamplona and Burgos, videotaping our conversations for their English classes.

And of course I thought of my nieces and nephew back home. How a few years ago Tessa, Kaylee, Tysen, and Kenzi would have held hands as they ran their race. How Riley would be too curious about what was ahead to wait for the starting bell. And how Kasen would do a victory dance as soon as he crossed the finish line. I can’t wait to hug them all!

But in the meantime I’m enjoying the many kids that continue to cross my path!

After getting settled into an albergue in Villafranca del Bierzo, I had dinner with two kids who wanted to practice their English pronunciation. They also helped the adults around the table understand each other, translating various English, Spanish, and French words so we all knew what we were talking about!

And I talked to Merena (age 4 ½) and her family about Merena’s first Camino. This is her dad’s sixth Camino and her mom’s second. Dad is riding a bike, with Merena in a cart on the back (and only a coloring book to entertain her!), while Mom is walking. They started in Leon where they live and where he works in the audio-visual department at the University. He is recording the journey for Merena, so she will remember this journey and be able to share it with other families considering the trip. 

They will do a week long stretch now and another in the summer in order to get from Leon to Santiago. Dad said when Merena is old enough (maybe 8), they will think about visiting California, where they can have lots more outdoor adventures!

It is really fun to see so many families enjoying the Camino, letting the kids teach us, and speaking the universal language of smiles!

Day 43

Day 43: Ponferrada to Cacabelos - 15.5 km

Yesterday I repeatedly bumped into a woman who kept saying, "Next time, I'm going to stay in this cute little town... I keep saying that. 'Next time.' I guess I have to come back!"

And all I could think was, What kind of crazy person would put themselves through this TWICE?!

Today I walked with a Korean young man who wasn't having nearly as much fun as she was. Granted it was 80 degrees and sunny today and 50 degrees and cloudy (much better for walking!) yesterday. But he was also pushing himself to do 31 kilometers when he had been doing a more comfortable 17 a day for the first half of his journey. So he was hot and tired and sore, with mountains to climb looming in the distance.

I think we are all feeling the "push" to reach Santiago, now just under 200 kilometers away!

These experiences remind me that there is both beauty and hardship in following our dreams. God places big dreams in all of our hearts. But to pursue those dreams means having to endure trials, heartbreak, suffering, challenges... in addition to getting to experience mountain top moments, breathtaking beauty, eternal reward.

If it was easy, more people would pursue their dreams!

But many people don't want to go through everything it takes to get there.

Luckily God places others on our journey to help encourage us, walk with us, to remind us never to give up, to tell us that God will be with us every hard and beautiful step of the way, to tell us it will be worth it when our dream is realized.

While walking out of Ponferrada today, dozens of people encouraged me on my way. "Buen Camino!" they said. Several patted me on the shoulder and told me to 'go with God' or 'keep walking' or 'see you later'. One man told me he walked this Way 5 months ago and it was beautiful.

My family too continues to be a huge source of encouragement. Texts and messages from both my sisters-in-law. Phone calls to my parents. Randy continuing to cheer me on from California. Aloys reminding me that he is just ahead of me (by 50 kilometers or so!) if I need anything.

And all of you who Walk With me on this journey, by reading, commenting, sharing, and considering what God is calling you to.

It won't be easy. But I promise you it will be worth it!  

Day 42

Day 42: Acebo to Ponferrada - 17 km

Rowena was sitting outside the first bar I came to when I walked into the city of Ponferrada.

Early this morning she had stopped and allowed me to pass her on the gorgeous trail, winding its way through a beautiful valley, rich with birds and bugs, lizards and giant chestnut trees. But we had only smiled at one another as I passed.

This time, however, she called out to me. "Do you speak Spanish?" she asked in English.

My brain struggled to comprehend what she was saying, and how to respond. In English? Or in Spanish? So I said, "Yes, sí. Y tu? Do you?"

"No," she said, "But I've injured myself and need to go to hospital." (Rowena is from Scotland, so she says things like 'go to hospital'.)

Which is when I realized she wanted me to help her get there. Because she didn't know how to ask. And by the look of her leg, which was cherry red and swollen nearly twice its normal size, she definitely needed to go.

So I said to the old man sitting nearby, "Esta un hospital circa de aqui? Le duele la pierna."

Sometimes the words are the same in English and Spanish, you just have to pronounce the vowels correctly to be understood. So hospital, for example, sounds like hose-pee-tal.

The man consulted two other men. They started to give us directions but I interrupted to ask if it was close by. They consulted each other again and thought it was maybe one, no maybe two kilometers. Yes probably two kilometers, or maybe a little more. I looked from the man to Rowena's leg and back, which is when he offered to call a taxi.

While waiting for the taxi, Rowena and I took the time to introduce ourselves, talk about what was going on with her leg, and how long we had both been walking. She's been walking the Camino off and on for 15 years, coming for holiday to do different stretches of it. This time she started in Leon, had gotten a sunburn 4 days ago, and it progressively got worse to where she now couldn't bear to walk any further.

I told her I would go to the hospital with her and she responded, "You don't want to go in a taxi, do you?"

A week ago I might have agreed with her, that riding in a taxi was "cheating" on the Camino, but I'm getting less and less devoted to the 'I must walk' mindset with each passing day. Besides, we were only a kilometer (tops) away from the albergue. And since Randy left it has been ever present in my mind that if I had to go to the hospital I would likely have to go alone. Which would be miserable. And I didn't want anyone else to have to go through that.

So when the taxi arrived we both got in.

The hospital was most definitely more than 2 kilometers away. But once there they took good care of us, getting Rowena in right away to see the doctor, who could understand some English but not speak it, but whose nurse did speak a little English. Between the four of us we managed quite well!

(It's amazing how much you can say by pointing. Rowena pointing at her leg and then toward the sun. The nurse pointing at my medical bracelet when she wanted to know if Rowena was allergic to anything. The doctor pointing at his pants to tell her to keep her legs covered from now on.)

After Rowena was told only to walk if it didn't hurt, and making a quick stop at the pharmacy next door, we took another cab back to the albergue, where we checked in for the night. And Rowena introduced me to everyone as her "guardian angel".  

Obviously to me it didn't feel like I did anything extraordinary. (I hope anyone would do the same!)

But I can see how it would seem to Rowena that God placed me specifically--someone who spoke Spanish, English, and was willing to ride in a taxi--on her path in her moment of need.

So, I can say, I'm grateful too that God chose to use me!

Day 41

Day 41: Rest day in Acebo - 0 kilometers!!

Today was the first true rest day I have taken on my journey.

Yes, Randy and I took two "rest" days, one on Day 11 in Estella and another on Day 21 in one of the many Villafrancas ("home to the Franks") we passed/will pass through. But in Estella we walked 10 kilometers roundtrip to the wine fountain, and on Day 21 we hiked out to a gorge, climbed a dam, and scaled a mountain just to have a picnic in a cave.

Not exactly a "rest" as far as my body is concerned.

So today I decided (actually my foot decided for me) that I deserved a day of no walking.

I am staying in a "bbb" (a bed above a bar that serves breakfast). And I have literally stayed in bed (or on my balcony) all day, except to go downstairs for breakfast (coffee and toast), lunch (a ham and cheese sandwich), and dinner (salad, steak, and a bottle of wine).

Making the decision to take a day off of walking was a difficult one for me. Even after all the sympathy I received yesterday from the pilgrims who passed me on the trail as I limped my way up and down the mountain pass. (I'm especially grateful to the Javier Bardem lookalike who told me walking the road would be better for me than taking the path. "Los piedras estan muy mal por sus pies." He was right!!)

Every day I am getting closer to the end of my time here. And yet there is still so much to see and do. I don't want to waste it resting.

But I don't want to be stupid either. If resting today means I'll be able to enjoy my walk tomorrow, then it is worth it.

It's all part of the journey...

To make myself feel better about resting, I pulled out my map of Spain and blacked out the path I have already traveled: 558.2 kilometers. With just a little over 200 kilometers to go to get to Santiago.

Maybe I do deserve a rest!

"Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow." James 1:2-3 NLT

Day 40

Day 40: El Ganso to Acebo – 24.1 km

Today I reached la Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross)!

Cruz de Ferro is a significant waymarker on the road to Santiago. It is the place where pilgrims bring a stone from their home country/community to place at the foot of the cross. Symbolizing our collective journey.

I didn’t actually bring a rock from home. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you. But it wasn’t something I felt called to do before leaving.

I did have a stone to place on the pile, however. Two actually. One that Randy brought for himself and one he was carrying for a friend. Since he didn’t get to walk to the cross this time around he asked me to carry out this task for him.

Some of you might recall that I thought I would leave my embrace key here. As a reminder that “to embrace” can mean to close your arms around someone or something. But it can also mean to open your arms/heart/self to everyone and everything. Like Jesus did on the cross when He stretched His arms out wide. For all of us.

I didn’t leave the key here, however. Choosing to give it to Randy before we left Leon. Because he fully embraced me: the good, the bad, the smelly. And he fully embraced the Camino: a journey all his own, that will continue to shape the amazing person he already is. And he has come to fully embrace life: living it, breathing it, sharing it. And I know I’m not the only one who is grateful for that.

But I didn’t need the key to remind me why I am here. In fact, I think it is more symbolic that I gave the key away, and carried instead stones for a person I know well and one who is a stranger to me.

Because that is what my journey is about. To stretch my arms open wide. Wide enough that all are included. The ones I know and love. And the ones I don’t yet know. To give and give and give. To receive from God and His children. And give some more. To do my part to extend the invitation to God’s table. And in turn my own.

Day 39

Day 39: San Justo de la Vega to El Ganso - 17.9 km

I think I'm finally getting the hang of this Camino thing.

My feet are killing me. I've left half of my clothing and most of my toiletries at various albergues along the way. I have a sunburn, but only on the left side of my body. And tonight we made dinner together in the albergue kitchen. (Okay so I didn't do any of the cooking, but I did do all the dishes!)

I have also met several people who have just started walking, which I was told would happen as we approached Holy Week. Some started in Leon 3 days ago. And one couple started today in Astorga.

Christie is from Texas, living in North Carolina, and Tom is from California. She said she found out about the Camino when Shirley McClaine's book literally fell off a secondhand bookstore shelf into her lap. She started talking about it and everyone thought she was crazy. Until she met Tom, who says "I'm just crazy enough" to do it too.

She works as a massage therapist at the Ritz Carlton. A $200 tip inspired her to start saving her cash tips in a shoe box.

The plan was to start in Leon 3 days ago. But Tom's wallet was stolen in the airport in California, leaving him without credit cards and cash (but luckily with his passport!). And then his luggage didn't arrive with him in Leon.

After it finally arrived on the third day they decided to take the bus to Astorga to "catch up" to where they had expected to be by now.

They were taking it slow and steady and I enjoyed giving them tips and helping explain some of the "customs" of both the Camino and Spain.

I was also delighted to run into my friend Romy from New Zealand at my stop for the night. Where I also made many new friends.

Since I started walking alone I have discovered that English is no longer the common language. Tonight I was the only one who didn't speak French. Last night I was the only one not fluent in Spanish (though I did catch much of the conversation). And the previous night I was the only one who couldn't understand German.

It truly is an international journey!

Camile from France says she walked from St. Jean to Burgos two years ago but had to go home because of tendinitis in her feet, which kept getting worse with each passing kilometer. I hope this isn't what is causing my new found pain!

While limping through a town earlier today a man told me to drink more water and soak my feet in salt before going to bed. So when I arrived in El Ganso the man running the albergue made me a cold saltwater bath. I don't know if it helped or not, but it was very sweet of him and inspired lots of conversation from my albergue friends about our various ailments and those of others we have encountered on the Way.

Blisters are nothing, we've decided. Compared to all the other things that can and have caused us pain!

And yet we continue to find joy in all things. Like this morning, for example, when I arrived in Astorga before anything was open (9 a.m.). Except the Cathedral of Santa Marta.

Three people were standing next to a side door and told me to go on in. So I did. There were one or two others seated. So I sat down to read my Bible. After an hour had passed I looked up and saw that 50 or so people had joined us, as well as the priest. And that's how I ended up attending mass at the Cathedral.

In a magazine that is published every year detailing the events of Holy Week in this region, I learned that every night from now until Easter there will be celebrations. Parades. Services. In each town that I will walk through. They claim it is the largest Holy Week celebration in all the world. As if I needed more reason to love my journey across Spain!

It will be a glorious end to the Camino!

Day 38

Day 38: Villar de Mazarife to San Justo de la Vega – 27.6 km

I am finding it very difficult to stop and rest now that I am walking alone. And not just stop, but to actually sit there for more than 5 minutes to allow my body a chance to recover. So after walking 9.6 kilometers without stopping this morning, I ventured into an albergue, looked at my watch (which I stopped wearing after about a week into my walking with Randy, but just put on again yesterday), and determined to sit for at least 45 minutes.

And so I sat. In the outdoor courtyard. Alone. Slowly sipping my coffee and eating my croissant. Listening to the albergue's pet bird repeatedly say “hola” and “adios”. Reading my Bible. With my boots off.

It wasn't so bad. But still I felt like I should be walking. Not just sitting around.

After I had "successfully" rested, I ventured on another 4.5 kilometers to Hospital de Orbigo, a town that I have heard wonderful things about. But which was either on siesta or I was distracted by my sore feet, because I walked through the entire town (population 1,100) without feeling the need to stop and stay.

At the edge of town I unexpectedly came to a cross roads and had to pull out my guidebook. While finding the page I needed, a young couple passed by me, said hello, and kept walking. Then turned around and came back.

“English?” they asked in German accents.

“Yes.”

“If you go straight, it is shorter. But if you go right, it is more beautiful,” the man said.

“Right it is, then!”

Sometimes shorter is better. Days when it is raining, muddy, or the scenery has been the same for several kilometers in a row. But today I wanted to follow the more beautiful path. Even though my feet hurt. Because this couple took the time to tell me that it was worth it. And it certainly was beautiful.

The next town was only 2 kilometers away. And since it was lunchtime I stopped at a bar. And bumped into a father/daughter duo from Canada I had met earlier on the trail.

“I’m buying you a drink,” the father said. “It comes with tapas!” I remember being that excited when I first learned this custom as well. “You are joining us whether you want to or not,” he added.

His daughter was just a few years younger than me and made for good company. It was her dad’s idea to come on the Camino. And after hearing his excitement for several months as he made plans, she decided to tag along. At least, she said, that’s how she would describe the Camino before coming. But now it is as much her journey as it is his.

“I don’t really see the point in getting to Santiago,” she said, when I told her I had less than 2 weeks left in Spain, “unless you are really religious.”

“I can find God in the trees and mountains, the ever changing scenery and certainly the people," I offered, "just as easily as I can find Him in the churches and cathedrals.” Which has become even more true for me with each passing day.

They were anxious to get to the next town (just 2.5 kilometers away) and settle in for the afternoon. But my feet wanted a longer rest. So I ordered a tortilla and a lemonade, plugged in my computer, and worked for the next two hours. Spending only 3 euros on my afternoon. (I love that so many bartenders expect pilgrims to loiter!)

As I was preparing to leave, a group of older gentleman started asking me all kinds of questions, most of which I didn’t understand. Except that they wanted to know if I was traveling alone. And they wanted me to take their “youngest” friend with me. “No, no, no!” he kept shouting, more interested in playing cards than walking 10.5 kilometers.

And even though this guy didn’t join me, I did meet up with an even older fellow about 8 kilometers later. Out for his evening stroll. Wearing a sweater and cap. Slacks and tennis shoes. Walking just a hair slower than I was.

We had your typical small talk. Where are you from? Where are you going? What do you think of this weather? But I enjoyed the sound of someone walking beside me as much as I did his interest in my Camino.

I walked him back to his car, about a kilometer down the road, and he wished me a “Buen Viaje.” Good journey.

Unwilling to go any further, I stopped at an Albergue Donativo. You pay what you can to stay at the donativos, and they use the funds for upkeep and the next night’s dinner. 

A special thank you to whoever stayed here the night before, because I enjoyed a delicious meal of noodle soup, salad, spinach and mushroom tortilla, and dessert.

The real treat, of course, was the company. My Spanish host. A French woman who lives nearby. And a Romanian couple who seem to be vagabonds (the young man I saw sitting outside another donativo earlier in the day, and she said she'd spent the afternoon washing her hair in the fountain).

Meditation was the main topic of dinner conversation. The Romanian couple just completed a 10-day silent retreat (she only lasted 7 days). And the Frenchwoman wants to go next. I told them I was a Quaker and that we have silence in our worship services in order to listen for God. The man said that it is important to focus on our breathing because that is how God created Adam. By breathing life into him. 

I will carry this thought with me tomorrow as I walk.

Day 37

Day 37: Leon to Villar de Mazarife - 20.1 km

To celebrate how far we had come together, Randy and I stayed at the infamous Parador hotel last night. And met our mysterious friend John from Australia for drinks in the bar. And again this morning for breakfast.

We shared with John a few of our theories about him. That he is an apostle. A figment of our imaginations. The CEO of the Camino. Or at least the Parador hotel.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

While much of John remains a mystery, he did reveal to us his reason for walking the Camino. A heartache we felt honored to be entrusted with. And invited us to "one" of his vineyards in Australia. If ever we found ourselves in the neighborhood.

"We'll have lunch under my tree," he said, a statement I can only fathom the depths of.

Obviously Randy and I have a new top priority on our bucket lists!

Randy's bus didn't leave until 16:45, so he walked my first kilometer with me before saying goodbye.

Along the way he asked if I had everything I needed: money, water, donuts... And he asked me if I felt safe.

I immediately started to cry. Not because I felt unsafe. But because I realized it was a concern I hadn't had to worry about since the moment he walked into my life.

Some people you just know immediately you can trust.

We were walking past a flower shop, so he stopped and bought me a carnation. (A woman told me later that it's called a "clavel" in Spanish.)

The weather was perfect. Nearly 80 degrees, with the sun shining bright. Except for the few moments that we had to say goodbye. In which the tiniest cloud stopped over our heads and brought rain to mix with our tears.

Even though I know it isn't forever, or even for long, saying goodbye to Randy has been the hardest part of my Camino.

But I knew I had to move forward. So with a last look over my shoulder, I found my way out of the city of Leon and onto the dirt paths that are now so familiar.

My plan had been to stop at the first albergue I came to, just 6 kilometers outside the city. But it felt good to push myself, so I just kept walking.

In honor of Randy being from California (and because he would want me to rest), I stopped in Fresno for a refreshment before tackling the last 13 kilometers of my day. And asked the bartender to put a stamp in my passport.

"Su primero dia," he said.

The passport I started with 37 days ago is now full of stamps from albergues, hotels, churches, bars, and museums. So Randy and I stopped in Leon to visit the nuns and get me a new passport.

"Si," I responded. Because in a way it is my first day. The first day of my new Camino. With a new passport. A new pace. And a fuller heart.

Day 36

Day 36: Arcahueja to Leon - 10.5 km

Today was my last day walking with Randy. His flight home is quickly approaching, so tomorrow he will take the bus to Santiago.

I can't even begin to describe the joy it has been to walk 468+ kilometers with this man!

We met on the first 50 meters of the journey. And I haven't spent a moment walking without him since.

We tackled the Pyrenees, even camping on the mountain top!

We've walked through snow, rain, heat, and wind. Over the Meseta (barrenness) and along the Senda (path right alongside the highway).

Attended Mass and visited Cathedrals.

Eaten every meal together for the past 35 days. And slept in the same tent, hotel, apartment, hostel, monastery, or albergue every night.

I've witnessed his generosity every single day. From giving Tuscany his belt and New Zealand his sleeping bag. To taking time to listen to people's stories, even if he has to stand in the cold and rain or drink another bottle of wine to do it. He makes people feel at home, even if he doesn't speak their language. And today he stopped traffic so an old lady could cross the street.

He has heard me laugh and heard me snore. Popped my blisters and shown me which muscles to stretch so I'll stop being sore. Carried food for us both (okay for me, but sometimes I share!) and taken weight out of my pack. Allowed me to cry when I need to and taught me to rest.

I can't imagine walking without him.

But one of the many things I love about Randy is that he believes in me. No matter how much I have relied on him over the past 5 weeks, he has never once doubted that I could make it to Santiago. That I will.

I am equally proud of him and his Camino. The way he has stayed true to his path. And all that it has brought him.

Someday we will meet again in Leon and finish "our" Camino together. I'm sure of it.

But for tomorrow, at least, we venture on our own.