... To Santiago de Compostela, Part II

I began the ascent into the final mountains, and officially into autumn.  The trees were heavy laden with apples, pears, figs, castañas and walnuts.  I felt like Dorothy in Return To Oz, gobbling up fruit as I walked along, grateful to not miss out on apple season, even so far from my beloved Pennsylvania orchards.  The cool air was perfumed by the ripening fruit and the familiar smell of the surrounding pastures and friendly livestock.  It reminded me so much of home, during this most homesick of seasons, and I was grateful.  It was during the nostalgic wistfulness of these days that we were assaulted with the first and worst of the rains.

Nicola

In the midst of the sudden deluge of wild weather, I did my best not to focus on my purple fingernails, or the feeling of new blisters growing under my blister scars.  I tried my best not to visualize my boots as fishbowls, pregnant with water.  I tried my best to shield my eyes from the icy wind and rain, and to adjust my posture, as I was intermittently aware of how parallel I was walking to the ground.  I visualized the caffeine coursing through my veins, inspiring my muscles to do what they knew to do, to propel me and my pack forward, step by brutal step.  I pictured my cardiovascular system working overtime to keep me warm, and trusted my capacity beyond my longing to curl up and take shelter.  It was a primal experience of entrusting myself to myself.

As I forged ahead, I was reminded for the millionth time of how much I take for granted, of how grateful I am for shelter, and warm, dry clothes, and a home.  I was acutely aware that even here, we are among the most privileged, each of us with opportunity and resources enough to arrive in Spain, our $200 packs over-stuffed with what we believe to be our essentials.  Each of us able to find medicine to treat our blisters, and medical care to treat our illness, and cream to treat our bedbug bites.  Undoubtedly, each with a home full of closets overstuffed with more clothes than we'll ever need.  And for the millionth time, I was humbled.  And more determined than ever to honor simplicity and appreciate with intention.

I arrived over the last of the mountains, my poncho shredded beyond recognition as anything other than party confetti, to find Nicola, the most gentle of Italian giants working his way off the mountain and into the town.  I had spent the better part of the week walking with different men from different countries, and he had quickly evolved into a shining favorite.  An Italian sunshine, as someone once referred to him.  A man only a few years older than me, who has more friends than even Facebook allows, and more heart than maybe anyone I've ever met.  A man who, in answer to prayers he knew nothing about, softened some of my edges, and gave me a bit of hope.  And if this wasn't enough, was also funny as hell, and a great drinking buddy.

My Favorites

As we worked our way deeper into Galicia and past the 100k mark, the landscape evolved into misty, fragrant forests of pine and eucalyptus.  The temperatures continued to drop, and we gladly experienced a reprieve from the rains.  Friendships continued to evolve, walls continued to come down, and limits continued to be tested.  I wiggled my way into a quad of phenomenal humans who had joined forces way back in the Pyrenees, and enjoyed every minute of their company.  I was as powerfully grateful for the saints and pilgrims I was personally meeting as I was for any who'd gone before these past two thousand years.  I knew their sacrifice, what it cost them to walk these narrow roads.  Their commitment inspired me, and gave me the courage to see it through to the end, to see it through to Santiago de Compostela.  We were so close.