Companions

I´m having trouble keeping up with these entries because of lack of computer access. Even though I´m schlepping my netbook, I have yet to find wifi anywhere but Pamplona and, as at this alburgue, which has only one computer with free internet, access and time are very limited!

So, here goes a brief update...

We left Larasoana over the little narrow bridge infamous several centuries ago for the bandits that would attack pilgrims as they entered or exited the village. The creek that runs under it is famous for its trout and salmon these days. We were none too sad to say good bye to the place. It is still our yardstick (that is, absolute zero, on the scale) for measuring the quality of our accommodations.

From Larasoana, the road headed through Trinidad de Arre (the picture is the old bridge leading into it) to Pamplona (the city gate in the old fortified defenses) , to Cizur Menor (Little Cizur), a little town a few km on the other side (flags - including the Knights Templar - inside the 12th c. Order of Malta church in Cizur). For the record, there is also a Cizur Mayor (Big Cizur).

The walk to Pamplona was pretty enjoyable. I had my pack sherpa´d so I just had a light bag (maybe 6 or 7 lbs) to carry the necessities of the day and that in itself made the journey easier. The sun was out in a bright blue sky. A lot of the path was dirt and rocky, but not too strenuous. Parts of it were flagstoned. Some of it paralleled old Roman roads, where we could still see the ruins.

But what really makes the way enjoyable each day are the traveling companions we meet. I have shared most days with different people. Part of yesterday, before I met up in Zubiri with Michael (Denmark) and Christian (Sicily), was with Emilio from Milan. He and I had a great conversation. Then, when he found out that I was an Episcopal priest, he just really had a difficult time absorbing that information and processing it! So interestingly, he soon dropped behind! But, as often happens, we keep running into the same people over and over, so he is very friendly and waves and wishes "Buen Camino!"

On this day, I journey with a man whose name I never learn, but who is from Holland. He is about 15 years older than I am. And we enjoy a lively conversation about all sorts of things as we traverse a wide range of trails. He had owned his own cafe and then a restaurant for a number of years, and then had been employed by a bank, I think. (It´s really a great thing that so many people speak English!). Then, he had worked for three years helping people who had had brain injuries. At that time, he was 65 and he decided it was time for him. So he retired on a pension.

Walking the Camino was something he had planned to do for quite a number of years he said. He told me he planned to try to do the whole thing. (Lots of people do it in segments over a number of years, picking up where they leave off. Lots of people also do it multiple times, either choosing different routes, different modes of travel or just doing the whole thing over again. You can go 'a pie', on foot; 'a bici or bicicleta', on bicycle; or 'a caballo', on horseback.) At some point he asked me what I did. I told him I was a priest. I got the usual reaction, much like Emilio´s the day before, raised eyebrows, big eyes, skepticism. We talked about it. One of the things I said was "I marry people and I bury them," somewhat humorously. Well, that touched something in him, because a moment or two later, he turned around, really whirled around, and looked at me very seriously and said, "Are your REALLY a priest?" And I said, "Yes, I really am." And that opened the way for him to tell me the real reason that he was walking the Camino, something he had never told anyone, something that, on behalf of someone else, had been weighing him down for years. We talked about it and as a result, he is now in a different place, and not just geograpically. And to be honest, so am I, because what he told me touched me very deeply. I had tears in my eyes when he was telling me. It was a sacramental time. When we parted ways in the center city of Pamplona a while later, he was practically skipping, not able to wait to get to Santiago, years lighter in weight. If for nothing else perhaps, that is why I was to do this Camino at this time. And I never even learned this particular companion´s name...

This gentleman and I had walked fast, even for me, so I knew that I would have a wait for Mary and Stella to catch up. I didn't expect them to be that far behind and I thought perhaps we could have a Sunday meal together somewhere in the city. I decided if I waited by the city gate, they couldn't possibly miss me. So I sat down and waited. And I waited. And I waited. Pilgrims came and went. I couldn't believe they could possibly have been so far behind me. Three hours later, they finally came trudging up cobbled hill towards the city gate, having had a nice morning break somewhere, a stroll through Trinidad de Arre with someone showing them the way through town and not really interested in a meal! Oh well. At least I had had a good rest.

We stopped in a bar with loud music open to the street to use the facilities. Little did we realize that it was a Basque separatist stronghold! As we were leaving we got into a conversation with one of the young men there and he explained their cause. Spain has a law whereby prisoners must be put in prisons in the same region where their families are so they can have visits and some sort of outside contact. But for Basque terrorists or those who are labeled such when arrested, they are immediately imprisoned on the far side of the country, and if and when their family members make the journey on visiting day, they are told, "Sorry, visiting hours aren't today." So this young man said they are just asking that the prisoners be repatriated, in accordance with Spain's own law, to their own province, in this case Iruna, or Basque. Once we learned the flags and symbols of the separatist movement, it was easy to spot them everywhere, and for quite a distance from Basque, even in Madrid, later. And now I have a bumpersticker to prove I met a Basque separatist! After this, we got on the road again and headed on to Cizur Menor.