Lost and Found on the Camino de Santiago: Part 19
Anna, Miguel and Sandra continue their pilgrimage through North Central Spain under the punishing sun.
Sometimes it was simply the top of a hill or a bend in the road that defined the horizon and was often the immediate goal. It was visible and gave us something to strive for, to conquer and then continue. Our goal: Burgos. Her taller buildings were white and silver slivers gleaming in the sun. Other buildings sat on the earth, opaque, oblong rectangles besmeared by a film of smog and shaggy clouds. We stood on a ridge eyeing the city. The cathedral’s towers were barely visible through the greasy haze. We had just climbed up a rocky slope and stopped, not in awe or admiration, but in calculating silence, preparing our minds for the second half of the day. We had already walked twenty kilometers and had twenty to go. We didn’t stop to rest, but simply to breathe and share water as we passed around small bags of pistachios and pumpkin seeds.
“I’m staying there. I need to rest,” Anna said, shaking a pebble out of her sandal.
We walked by a military exercise area. Soldiers waved and smiled and seemed more like children playing on large toys, though the artillery booms behind us told us very plainly that it was practice for war.
*
“But there are a lot of people here.”
“Yes, but they were already here.”
I didn’t believe him; a customer had obviously been served in the past few minutes. Anna looked for the restroom. The waiter noticed.
“I’m sorry, but only customers can use our facilities.”
It was obvious—our haggard clothes and rank odor repulsed him. He took a step back. Sandra removed her sunglasses, wiped her forehead and tugged on Anna’s arm. She didn’t move. Sandra looked at me, pleading for me to bring Anna out.
“Anna, let’s go.”
She stared down the maître d’.
“It’s their loss,” she said.
She pulled her arm out of Sandra’s grip, then turned around and walked out ahead of us. We followed as she crossed a boulevard to another restaurant.
“Is that what you asked her to do?” Sandra asked as she turned away from me and chased after Anna.
We tumbled in the other establishment behind Anna as the cool rush of air-conditioned air blew out of the doorway. She turned to face me.
“In India, that would not have happened.”
“What?”
“That treatment, it’s horrible, not…”
“Yes, but…”
“But, what? He had no right to do that. He was rude.”
“I know he was. I’m not defending him. They’re not serving food.”
“I don’t care.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t tell me what to do! He was rude. Such a jerk.”
While we argued, Sandra walked over to a waiter who flagged down another man. They spoke and looked over at us.
“It’s just that they don’t seem to care that we’re doing something sacred.”
“Well, they don’t. Why should they? It’s one of the challenges we have to confront.”
“When I was in Tibet…”
“This isn’t Tibet or India or Brazil. Don’t look for them here. You’re just going to—”
“Hey, don’t…”
Sandra stepped between us, faced Anna and pulled her away. I stayed put. Eyeing us, the headwaiter quietly explained he would serve us dinner early. “Don’t worry, we will do our best to accommodate you.” He was embarrassed that Sandra had interrupted our argument. We set our backpacks by the wall and sat down to glasses full of water and—a rarity on the Camino up to this point—ice. In fact, it was the first time we had had ice. A basketful of fresh bread followed. These were two special orders by the headwaiter. He moved between the kitchen and the dining room, making sure we were cared for. Sandra had worked some magic. Anna, who usually nibbled appetizers, tore through the rolls—ripping them in half, smearing them with butter and swallowing them without chewing. The waiter returned to take our order, our Camino staple: churrasco, eggs (over easy), fries, a small, sad salad (a couple of tomato slices, lettuce, and one slice of carrot) and a dessert (a small slice of cake).
We ate with gusto, but little grace. Anna greedily smacked her lips, dipped her fries and fingertips into the egg yolks and breadcrumbs and then munched on them with content indulgence; I took pleasure in her satisfied smile. We all followed suit and only paused to drink water and take deep breaths. The food vanished almost as soon as it arrived. After the meal, the waiter returned with an inkpad and stamp to mark our passports. “Gracias,” Sandra said. Anna and I simply nodded, our mouths full of cake.
Sometimes, angels do not need to share wise words; they simply have to provide food and comfort. The waiter chuckled, “The refuge is still a bit far from here, about eleven kilometers, but the city is beautiful.” And sometimes they have to softly tell you the harsh truth.
It was not clear if the food or his final words put us in a daze, but I suddenly had to adjust to the fact that we had nearly eleven kilometers to go as we stepped back out onto the pavement and marched. Although Burgos is considered one of the trail’s jewels and a place whose ancient core beckoned for closer exploration, we didn’t care. Anna had mentioned it once before, but the thought rose with the ardor of the sun and vanished like a balloon floating away. Sublime city? We were walking on lava. The meal became a quickly forgotten dream followed by a nightmare. Walking back into a large urban space demanded an adjustment of depth perception. The increased height of buildings together with the limited space between them made distances seem shorter as we walked deeper into Burgos. My soles were raw. I swallowed saliva to wet my throat, not wanting to stop for anything until we reached the refuge.
“Where is it?” Anna cried, looking up at the sun. “What time is it?”
We lost our sense of time. We believed we had walked about an hour, but I wasn’t sure. I took out my watch.
“Almost 5:30.”
We slowed down, stopped and looked at each other, back at the cars on the avenue and then at the buildings forming an imposing wall in front of us. They all crowded in, squeezing out the little energy and water we had left. Sandra picked up the pace again. After a few blocks, Anna and I stopped at a bench, but Sandra kept going. You heartless machine! Arms dangling at her side and her head thrown back, she sat and allowed the energy to drain from her. The sun was a smoldering coal on her sunglasses.
“Miguel, I’m out of water.”
“I am too, but the refuge shouldn’t be that far. Burgos isn’t that big,” I said looking up, unsure about my take on its size.
The guidebook could tell us, I hoped. My feet throbbed, almost audibly. The multicolored map we had looked at in the morning delineated the best route to the refuge, but when I found it again, I froze. The damn thing wasn’t even on the map. It was near the opposite side of the city—three and a half kilometers away from the west side of the town’s center, which is where we were. Anna noticed my silence.
“What?”
“It’s still far, but we’ll make it. We’ll get water at a store. Let’s go,” I said, sliding the guidebook back into place. I strapped on the pack, wanting to work up the energy to make one final push.
“Leave me here.”
“What?”
“Leave me here. I can’t make it.”
“But, it’s not much further. I’m walking with you.”
“No, go on without me. You’re doing it anyway,” she said as tears cleared paths of skin on her dusty, sunburned cheeks. Her hat fell to the ground, revealing her sweaty hair.
“C’mon Anna, don’t give up.” I sat next to her, ignoring the second part of her statement. I picked up her hat.
“Leave me alone. Go! Leave! Don’t worry about me! You’re abandoning me anyway. ”
“No!”
“Miguel, what do you care? Go,” she whispered, covering her eyes as more tears streamed toward her ears and into her hair. “What do you care?”
“I’m here, I’ll wait.”
“No! I don’t want you to wait.”
She sniffled. I looked up the street. Sandra was gone and it was quiet.
“Go Miguel. Just go,” she whispered, sniffling then exhaling. “Go. Go… please listen to me.”
I sat down saying, “¡Vamos, no te rajes!”
“Go, please leave. Listen to me.”
I took two steps away from her and nearly made another plea, but instead I turned around and didn’t look back. When I had walked about two blocks away, I caught sight of Sandra, who had returned to look for us. Sandra looked behind me, and I turned around. Anna had not followed. Sandra stopped walking toward me and waited, but didn’t ask about Anna as I walked past her. I turned back again. Unfortunately, we could not say much to each other. I removed my sunglasses and hat to make the message a little clearer. She didn’t want to come. I tried. I swear I tried, but she ordered me to leave. Scanning the street, Sandra removed her sunglasses too. Damn, I should have waited for her. You really don’t understand women, do you?
Sandra walked back toward me, but turned and went into a small shop. She walked out with two 1.5-liter bottles of water, and handed one to me. She tore off the cap and drank. I was about to do the same, but a hand reached from behind me and grabbed the bottle out of my hand. Anna poured water on her head, then drank as it ran down her cheeks, her throat and chest.
“Sorry,” she said, handing me the water.
I took it and drank, holding the large clear bottle up above my open mouth and poured the water as Anna had.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“Sorry for what?”
“For taking the water from you?”
“Oh, really. You’re sorry for that?”
She looked away and spoke to Sandra, but in an instant turned to me and snatched the bottle from my hand and again chugged water without embarrassment. We continued past the white towers of the cathedral and followed the inlaid brass copper shells along the Arlanzón River and into the Parque el Parral for the day’s final steps.
No song or inspiration moved me toward the goal—simply the desire to throw off my pack, bathe and sit. I wanted to pull up my feet and detach them from the ground. Tender the day before, they had become ground meat. I was afraid my skin, muscle and bone would ooze from my shoes once I removed them. Anna clung to me, drawing from my waning energy. I walked for the both of us. Just barely.
“My knee hurts,” she breathed. “Sorry, but I’m staying here to rest for a couple of days.”
I didn’t respond. We didn’t settle into the refuge so much as lunge our bags and then ourselves onto the bunks near the entryway of the small sleeping quarters. We lay down for a few minutes and back into our ritual. We had to. Chores could not wait. It was 7:00. Shower. Laundry. And finally food. Sandra and I went shopping for dinner. Anna didn’t want to punish her feet any more, so she stayed put.