We leave Ventanos after a breakfast in the dining area of our alburgue - crusty bread and jam again, with tee con leche. Carmel, Alex and I walk as far as the next city, Najera, together and then they catch a bus and on to other links, for they are meeting up with some friends in Barcelona (I think) for a holiday. They say goodbye to the Camino for the time being.
Najera is an interesting little city. The center of the city is gathered on either side of a pretty little river flowing through the middle of it. There are little cafes with outside tables along its banks. I explore the center of town a little bit - behind the initial facade of cafes and other businesses, there is an interesting little backstreet, almost an alley, with a whole other set of businesses. This is where the locals shop - the butchers and grocers are here, the more utilitarian and less picturesque shops. I go back out by the river and the bridge and watch the pilgrims coming by. One of the cafes advertises wifi, and I decide to sit down there for my mid-morning break and catch up on some of my blogging while I enjoy a pastry and some tea.I am very mindful of one of the "Beatitudes of the Camino" that Carmel came across the other day: "Blessed are you pilgrim, if what concerns you most is not to arrive, as to arrive with others." I am concious that I have come with others, Stella and Mary, and in a sense, Lexi and Josh. I also know that I have a deadline because Stella and I have a specific day for flying home, and I really want to be able to finish the Camino and arrive in Santiago. I cannot walk at the pace that Mary, Lexi and Josh are keeping, and if I do, I don't think I will be able to reach our goal on time. But at the same time, it is so important in my heart, that I "arrive with others," my friends, and not just arrive. It is about celebrating, not just some random goal and checking it off the list. We're in this together. I'm not sure how far behind me Stella is; I think she stayed in the town behind me, Navarette, last night, so she will be at least an hour later than me arriving in Najera. I know that she will have to come over this bridge, right by where I am sitting, so if I just stay here and pay attention, I can't miss her!
Sure enough, after a while and several cups of tea, Stella comes over the bridge, listening to her iPod and taking in the beauty of the city.
I'm glad to see her for a number of reasons, not the least of which is because of the tea, I need a bathroom break, but I was afraid to go inside in case I missed her! She's ready for a break, so we stay a bit longer in Najera, and talk about walking the rest of the way to Santiago together, though not necessarily in lock-step. We both need our space, but we are fine with also walking together physically when the mood strikes. Our paces are similar enough except sometimes, Stella just wants to walk listening to the music that her daughter, Jennifer, has loaded onto her iPod. Jennifer has performed some of it herself and she has such a lovely voice! On many occasions, Stella will take her earphones off and hand them to me, or she just places them on my head, and says, "Oh, you've got to listen to this!" As we continue on our pilgrimage, it is comforting knowing that we are usually within a kilometer or two of each other. We begin to get to know each other even better as we share more and more of our life stories as we walk. Stella is an amazing, and an amazingly loving, person. We leave Najera and head towards Santo Domingo de la Calzado. We are still in the La Rioja region of Spain. When we walk through fields, they are still filled with wheat and vineyards, or with occasional olive and almond groves. But today also has a lot of rocky, arid areas that look so much like our desert southwest. In some places, we climb in and out of rocky gulches.
Santo Domingo is an interesting city as well, and one connected with a funny little legend. As we come into the city, shop windows are filled with the images of chickens, which have to do with the legend. But first, about Santo Domingo, who was a real person. As a boy named Domingo, he lived during the 11th century. Spaniards claim him as their own, but traditions also say he could be Italian, he might also be from the French Basque region, take your pick. Anyway, he felt called to become a monk, but the monks at any number of monasteries found him to be too slow of mind for the rigors of monastic life and study. So, Domingo built himself a little house along the pilgrimage route which was springing up and becoming popular at this same time. From his home, he served the pilgrims, though always remaining unseen, for he felt he, being slow, was too unworthy to be seen by the 'great ones,' those worthy of going on pilgrimage. When the pilgrimage route got bad, he would pave them - and is today the patron saint of all who work on roads! When the rivers rose high, he built bridges, some of which still stand. Where food was bad or scarce, Domingo provided kitchens, and where sick pilgrims congregated, he created refuges for them. Finally, towards the end of his life, one of the monasteries which had early refused to accept him, readily and proudly admitted him to the order.At the same time as Domingo was serving the pilgrims, about 1080, there arose a story in Toulouse, France, invoking the miraculous intercession of St. James. It became known as the Golden Legend and news of it traveled like lightening across Europe and, of course, across the pilgrimage route. Three centuries later, the people of Santo Domingo's community 'borrowed' the details of the story and made it their own, transforming it into the miracle of Santo Domingo. Today, the story goes like this:
A mother and her handsome young son, who were from Cologne, were traveling on the pilgrimage route and stopped enroute in one of the shelters that Santo Domingo had built. The innkeeper's daughter found the young man quite attractive and sought his attention, but he resisted her advances. The next morning, the mother and son resumed their journey. Now, though, the young girl's 'love' had turned to scorn, so she denounced the son for having stolen a silver cup which she had surreptitiously hidden in his knapsack. Constables were sent out to stop the son and search his pack, and, of course, they found the planted cup. Dragging the boy back to town, with his mother following, crying and pleading his innocence, the constables hanged the young man. But Santo Domingo (his spirit), aware of the boy's innoncence and purity, placed his hands under the boy's feet and prevented him from strangling. When the mother saw that her son was not hanged, but still alive, she ran to the judge to ask for justice, and to ask that he be cut down and set free. The judge, who at that moment had just set himself down before a banquet of two roasted chickens, one a cock and the other a hen, replied, "Your son is no more alive than these chickens!" whereupon both of them sprang to life, re-grew their feathers immediately and flew off - free as a bird! Absolutely flabbergasted, when he could speak again, the judge immediately ordered the young man cut down and restored to his mother's care. None the worse for his experience, the two of them continued on to Santiago.
To this day, there are chicken coops on one of the pillars of the church, and chickens are allowed to roam freely within the church. This story, too, is seen to epitomize the spirit of the St. James and the Camino.
We get rooms in the old monastery hostel. The room where we have to take off our boots has a rock floor that is very difficult and sharp to walk on in stocking feet! Ouch, ooch, ouch! Then up a very narrow, old flight of wooden steps. The newer showers downstairs are not segregated by gender and are full and everyone is remarking about just how cold the water is. Fortunately, we find out about a single bathroom near where our bunks are. Much better - AND warm water!
After getting settled in, we go out and explore.
Lots of chickens everywhere. We're surprisingly not very hungry. Or we can't decide what we're hungry for. Not chicken. We stop in a combination bakery and candy store where lots of children are getting penny candy of various sorts. Still no Santiago cakes. Eventually, we end up at an umbrella table at a little cafe in a little back street plaza. I get a salad. Again. Just can't face all that fried food. As we sit there, someone rushes through with a small child that has been injured. There's a hospital just around the corner. We pray that the child will be okay. All around us, street life goes on - extended families out for the evening gather around a table, lots of baby carriages, couples stroll by doing couple things, teens in small groups act like teens at home. Cell phones are as ubiquitous here as the States. A lot of folks here smoke, and it's hard to sit away from it at meals. People here are not as obese as Americans, because they do more walking and less driving, but they are beginning to catch up. There's much more sense of community, because there are public spaces. People live in smaller places and so they come to parks and cafes and meet up with others. There's a brief rain shower, but we stay sort of dry under the umbrella. Others on the street dash for cover. When the shower's over, the street life resumes. And it is time to turn in for the evening.
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