Standing at a crossroads, I talk with the Annies. They’re tired. I’m tired. I lean on my stick and stare into the grass that protrudes from the cracks in the sidewalk. A small blue sedan pulls up beside us. The driver, a middle aged lady, sticks her head out the car window and tells us in Spanish that there is an albergue in Mar, a town 6 kilometers further. We thank the stranger before she speeds off. We must have looked confused but the suggestion was helpful.
The Annies decide they want to stay in the town where we stood and rest their aching shins, but I know I should carry on. My heel is feeling useable for the first time in what has felt like weeks. I continue on.
As I walk along the side of the road, alone, I find myself drifting into the thoughts in my head. Finding a place of meditation, I rhythmically strike my stick against concrete. I couldn’t help but miss dirt roads and rugged coastal trails as I was hiking inland today.
As my mind bounced through the thoughts in my mind my eyes zoned in on the cadence of my feet and the road below as I walked up a hilly and windy road. Realizing I haven’t been paying attention to trail markers, I pull my head up. The gray guardrail winds along the right side of the road and there’s nothing but dry shrubbery on the left. Convinced that I would have noticed a turn signal I continue to walk up the winding road. Cars whizz past me.
As I climb and climb and wind and wind the speed of the cars seems to multiply in multitudes while the frequency of yellow arrows are multiplied by nothing more than zero.
The annoyances and worries of getting lost had now crept into my mind and I quicken the pace of my feet and stick, now making loud clattering sounds as it’s blunt edge is smothered against the endless winding road.
Eventually, I summit the endless road. For the first time of my Camino, I was not excited to look over the landscapes of these rolling hills and farmland. I was tired. I had been tired for the hours, and now didn’t know where I was. From where I stood, ignoring the view, I could make out a small town, just west of me. I figured it must be Mar, the town of the stranger’s directions. Refusing to backtrack down the car packed hill I had already climbed I decide to continue towards the little town.
The cars are whizzing
My hair is frizzing
And I don’t even know
Where I am
I see a small city
At least it’s pretty
Cradled in
Farmland
So I head that direction
Walking with little affection
I’m becoming
Tired and slow
And despite my complaining
I’m glad it’s not raining
The Camino is truly
A blast.
At the bottom of the endless road I look back at the giant hill I had unnecessarily climbed. In front of me, a large overpass rests quite restlessly, supporting the weight of semi trucks and Citroens. I walk underneath the damp dark overpass, which oddly has a pedestrian walkway painted on the side of the road. I wondered who on earth would pick this as a refreshing morning walk.
As I stepped back into the sunlight I could see buildings, houses.. a town!
Standing outside a quaint two story brick building was a small old lady. I walked up to her smiling, excited to see someone who could help direct me.
Hoping I was in the right town, I asked politely, “Donde esta la albergue Mar?” The old woman raised her eyebrows and waved her hand forward in a shooing gesture. Assuming she was ushering me away, sick of foreigners with poor Spanish skills, I thanked her and turned to seek help elsewhere. But as I turned my back she yelled, “no, no, albergue aqui!”
This was the albergue! This frail old lady, the first person I’d encountered in this small town, was precisely the person I needed to meet. I laughed at the miscommunication before she showed me inside where she charged me 5 euros for a bed.
A lesson from the Camino: with a little effort everything seems to work itself out.