Accepting that I’m going to reach this particular finish line alone, I drop into my usual stride. One step after the other as automatic as breathing. The clouds move quickly and cluster turning the town gray. I start down a dark road in my psyche to examine what lies beneath my apprehension. There it is as if it were glowing. Reaching Santiago means saying good-bye to a way of life – a way of being that I’ve adopted as wholly my own. I am a pilgrim, more specifically a peregino, who has made pilgrimage to the resting place of someone I am not the least bit familiar with and doubt that he and I share anything in common other than where I go, and where he is.
The way markers are more commercial and the Camino is becoming almost generic, losing its medieval nature. I stop at a sports bar, order food and my usual cafe con leche. I sit at a table near the door, remove my boots and put on my Crocs, telling myself that the closeness of Santiago is no reason to abandon a good habit that has served me well. Eating gives me something to do for without it the anxiety would build, so I’m impatient. I give the barkeep a “Where’s my lunch?” look, when I see a sign over the bar. A red circle and strikethrough drawn over a pair of boots; the picture is telling pilgrims not to remove our boots. I giggle and mutter aloud, “Demasiado tarde“ (too late).
The Spanish equivalent of the Sex and the City gals on pilgrimage are at a table in a far corner eating, drinking, and laughing. I watch them as a swell of loneliness moves into my throat. I look up at the ceiling hoping that gravity will prevent the tears from falling. I’m startled by a young women standing next to me with my order. I softly push my boots under the table and thank her.
I eat slowly, when one of the two fifty-something Irish sisters comes in. My knowledge of them is gossamer and I’ve forgotten their names, but they’ll do. I’ll have another cafe con leche while they order and eat, and the three of us will walk in to Santiago together. My great plan dissolves, as I notice she’s just here to use the toilet before going on. I’m afraid my sadness is exposed as I wish her a “buen Camino” and watch her disappear through the double doors. I’m happy to walk by myself – I even prefer it at times, but not now, not today!
I finish my food, lace up, swallow my loneliness and leave. I stand in the sun’s rays and close my eyes, taking in the warmth, when I hear a voice drawing near, quickly as if it’s being carried by the wind. I open my eyes, hoping to see someone I know, but the road is deserted. I realize it’s the Camino gently urging me to walk on.
To be continued…
Pilgrim Tracy HutchinsonU.S.A.
lifecoachonthecamino.blogspot.com
@samuraicoach
Completed first Camino in 2012
I enjoy reading about your prilgrimage.
I think we have all felt this loneliness before. Though, I’m sure it’s different while on the Camino! Looking forward to hearing more Tracy, Best!!
So real and very touching. Carry on peregrino, almost at your journey’s end.
Your journey is so detailed and inspiring.
Can’t wait for the next part.
Love all the the colorful descriptions, makes me feel like I”m right there with you.
Now I have a lump in my throat. Your tender description of your honesty is a gift to us all. We all go through these emotions from time to time but we seldom understand (or allow ourselves to) why or what we need to do next to help ourselves get through these moments of self doubt. It is just as much a journey of the mind as the journey using those boots. <3
I have felt that loneliness a few times in my life but as you well know we learn from that place. It did make sad for you and wish I could have been there to hugs you ( and walk beside you) . XXOO
Great transitions, smooth delivery, easy read! I never had to guess or imagine what Ms. Hutchinson had to say, perfectly described, neat.
BEautiful — love how you weave the universal feeling of loneliness with the details that put us right there in your boots – or your Crocs, actually.