June 26, 2018
Time flies like the wind, the days have gone by somehow…
On this side of the Camino nothing really differs from the Camino that you walk – everyday scurrying up and down the stairs with brooms, buckets and rags; cleaning toilets, sinks, bathtubs and sweeping floors; at lunch fluttering through and over pilgrims’ feet and bags with trays full of cups and glasses. Many kilometers are weathered. First three blisters appear. Rage and despair come about now and then with yet another self-overestimating pilgrim. They have started throwing up now, too. The Spanish summer has set in, +35/37°C in the shade and +27°C at 10am. The Camino from Burgos to León is flat and absent of trees that could offer shelter from the sun. For up to 20km at a time there might be no café, not even a place to stop by or even a WC. It’s a thorough challenge for the body, emotions and the mind. Many pilgrims, being well aware that there will be no WCs on the way, don’t drink much water, especially women. And with that the problems are right around the corner. Those, who have been throwing up, I can see a mile away.
Now I understand why only those who’ve walked the Camino are taken in as volunteers – a normal, average person would be calling ambulance 24/7. Just yesterday afternoon a fair- haired youth from England, barely managing himself, stumbles in. Face and neck deep red, he’s wearing a thick jacket, eyes sunken. With a hop worthy of an Olympic long jumper I give him a cup of water, catch the falling bag and prop the guy up, too. The guy asks for more water, but when he upends the second cup he gets sick. I inquire how many kilometers he’s walked and when he last had some water … he’s only walked 16km, he’d overslept. Yesterday he burned his shoulders, with no thin shirt he resorted to his jacket, and water ended an hour ago. I arrange a room at sonic speed and make him lie down with a cold towel on his head for at least 30 minutes, and bring more water.
It’s the same story with a kind dame from Slovakia with big eyes. Fearing the absence of WCs, she had drunk barely 1.5l of water that day!!! Resulting in much trouble – she can’t walk, her head’s spinning. She stayed with us for two days. I sat at her bed massaging her feet and head, made her drink more water.
It’s evening now, two of the English guy’s friends arrive, just off the train. They happily show off their fresh pilgrim passports and proudly announce their plans – to get up early and walk 25km. Uhkhm…, I force all three of them to sit down, cross my hands, and instruct them on the safety and self-love measures of the Camino- on the first day they should walk no more than 15-17km, I also show them how to read the map and road signs, how to measure the distances etc. The little suns (“little sun” is a form of endearment in Latvian) are looking at me all strange, apparently in the pilgrim center no one told them about calculating the distances. Well, alright, now they’ll know. I order them to present their water bottles, they proudly present Sprite and Schweppes which I turn down in a blink of an eye – drink them now or pour ‘em out altogether! Only fresh water (you can add some peppermint)! Just the same I cancel their idea of setting out at 7am, best would be at 5am and the latest to stop would be noon. I eye their light skin (one’s is terribly burned – I treat it with my special aloe cream) and make them show all of their sun lotions and instruct on which ones they should definitely buy, too. When I’m done with the guy’s suffering feet, all three, fluttered, ask for a hug. Of course! Free hugs!!!
I don’t know… maybe it’s the full moon approaching or it might be some internal turning point in me, but these last days I couldn’t quite write . The fun was plentiful, I was blessed and caressed by the aqsaqals (they came down here for a meeting and I was introduced to them) and by the monastery sisters, who liked to gently stroke my hair or touch me on the shoulder now and then. In return I blew the microwave in their kitchen. Boom! Smoke! And a siren’s scream of mine. If the Angel of Creativity visits me, I’ll be sure to write about that, too.
There is an established tradition here – pilgrims’ coffee time. Every day at 5pm the coffee/tea table is set in the beautiful hall for the pilgrims. A time where one can talk about emotions, get support, and just be together. As an ice-breaker, everyone is offered to draw one or two association cards that depict the current feeling the best. No two afternoons are the same, sometimes the talks are quiet, intimate, other times – completely the opposite. That was the case on the first evening, a gentleman from Germany of around my age, finally having an audience, could no longer be stopped nor shushed, the amplified emotions were gushing out, and at times he was crying and then almost screaming. The others didn’t get to say a word. For years, after a back trauma, he’s been without a job, gone through alcohol temptations and understood that he’s not a piece of crap just yet and wants to live differently – he sold his car and is now walking from Germany to Santiago.
Another evening, when most have spoken theirs and are getting ready to go to the mass, a young man with a quite defiant haircut starts talking. All that he remembers from childhood was parents’ beating him, even being dragged from under the table. Thrown out of the house at 14, he lived the way he knew – stealing, selling substances etc. Then upon seeing his parents on the streets, he understood that he doesn’t want to life his life like that. Now he is walking the Camino to redeem the guilt in his own eyes. The young dames just next to him hold his hand, palm on his shoulder, just to say – I’m here with you. He’s my right hand in the kitchen and with setting the table and cleaning up, supportive of others, helping an elderly man with his tortured feet. Later, I place a candle at the altar for him, may he be strong enough to stay on this side. I believe that if there’s a flame in a person, no wind can smite it.
