Day 3

Larrasoana – Pamplona

15.6km/9.7 miles

There is that dreary feeling in the air today.  Heavy rain clouds linger over my head and wait for the perfect time to spring a leak.  This particular morning I awoke with reality on my mind.  The realization of how manic this experience can and will be.  How important it is for me to not hold any expectations; something that I often struggle with.  Lack of good sleep from grown men snoring all night keep me from reaching REM; earplugs never seem to stay in my ears a whole night.  The thought of rolling off the top bunk alone has managed to keep my awareness close to the surface.

Misunderstood

As I begin to walk with a diminished amount of enthusiasm this morning, the smell of fresh dew awakens my spirit.  It reminds me to feel grateful.  I walk with a familiar face this morning, a girl my age from Estonia named Frida.  Her thick accent is like none I have ever heard, slavic/noridc with little English.  She is tall and beautiful, but holds a blank stare.  I always notice her when she walks past me.  Each time our paths cross I say “Hello.”  Her response is always a short “Hello” and never anything more.  Today I try to dig a little deeper, I ask, “How are you doing, your feet in particular?”  With no hesitation she responds with a lack of expression, “Fine, no problems at all.”  I role my eyes under my breath in pure disgust from my own consistent pain in my shoulders and feet that I can’t seem to forget.  Is it just me who feels the weight of the world on my back, literally?  I wonder if I complain too much, something I also struggle with in “real” life.  Her positive response annoys me, but also leaves me with no other choice than to ignore the negativity vibrating from my body.  “Yea, my feet hurt but it’s ok, I’m happy to be here.”  We make small talk and I can’t seem to tell if I am bugging her or she is just misunderstood.

In some dark way I long for one of my best friends to be here, to respond to me:  “Yes, my feet are fucking killing me, this is fucking hard and I think about quitting every other second!”  I wouldn’t feel like the only person struggling.  I then think what if she was here?  We would totally both say fuck this, lets go drink margaritas on the beach for 6 weeks, and that is not what I came for.  Which reminds me, why did I come?

What am I searching for?

A common question that I keep getting asked is:  “Why are you walking the Camino?”  The answer seems so obvious to me, “The same reason you are right?”  “For adventure, to experience something?”  Some agree, some have more specific reasons like:  “It’s a cheap way to travel”,  “For exercise”, “To strengthen my meditation practice”, “My niece convinced me”, and “A friend of mine suggested it to me.”  I find my answer is a little different with each person I talk to, as if there are a ton of reasons why I’m here.  I don’t know if I have just one reason.  I don’t know if it is even possible to have just one reason.  I can’t imagine somebody choosing to walk over 500 miles in Spain to sleep in hostels just for exercise.  There must be more.  What are we all searching for?

My Angel on the Way

Each person I talk and walk with I feel a deep connection to.  As if we were meant to meet.  Maybe it is not a meditation but rather a connection we long for, but no one talks about.  I walk the afternoon with another girl in her late 30’s from New York.  We found each other trying to navigate through the outskirts of Pamplona.  She is single, no kids and debating about leaving her stressful job that pays well.  She vacations all over the world.  She has backpacked Nepal with her best friend and rode camels in India, things I dream of.  If I stay on my current path in life, I see myself in her shoes.  Is that something I want?  Marriage and kids have always been up in the air for me.  I have never felt 100% about marrying anyone yet and my mind flips about having kids depending on the day.  The thought, quite frankly, scares the shit out of me.

We stop to take a break as we enter Pamplona, the first big city on the Camino.  I lean over so I can adjust my sweatshirt and give my shoulders some relief from my pack.  She looks at me and asks, “Do your shoulders hurt?”  “Yes, I place the arms of my sweatshirt under each strap to provide some extra padding for my shoulders.”  She then asks, “Is your pack adjusted correctly?”  My face reveals my uncertainty, “I thinks so?”  “This morning I did.”  She replies as she loosens my pack, “You should adjust it every time you take it off and back on.”  “Make sure to loosen the straps as well.”  “Really?” I respond.  “I haven’t been doing that.”  She has me lean over so the weight is higher on my hips.  I re-click my waist belt and retighten my shoulder straps.  I quickly stand up straight, expecting it to be heavier.  With enthusiasm I exclaim, “It’s way better!”  I swing back and forth just to make sure the lightness withstands my movement.  “I can’t believe it, you literally changed my life!”  I tell her she is an angel and I thank her continuously.

She decides to stop here for the evening in a hotel.  She wasn’t on my path long, but just long enough to make an impact on my life.  Physically, she made my life easier.  I continue on and before I know it the pillows in the sky begin to cry.  Tears drop on my forehead and I make a decision to stop early to see Pamplona and rest.  I needed this.  I still think about how happy I am to have had my angel cross my path at just the perfect time.  Just as my pack had granted me enough pain to ground me, but not break me.  I wish I remembered her name or captured a picture, lots of names come and go.  She was my angel that day.  I felt grateful, again.

Pamplona