Whispers from the Camino—Day Five

Vallava to Puente la Reina. Sept. 9. 32.2 km.

Two gifts in different disguises.

Ascending the mountain outside Pamploma

It was interesting reflecting on this day. Part of it was discovering that I seemed to find another gear all day. While not as challenging as the Pyrenees on the first day of the pilgrimage, the route out of Pamplona headed up a fairly steep rocky trail that took nearly two hours to ascend. I was surprised by the way I just powered up it. I had taken it a little easier the day before feeling like my leg needed a rest. It appeared that it was just the break it needed, as the hill seemed to beg me to conquer it this day.

But I am getting ahead of myself. The two gifts presented themselves in the city of Pamplona, a historic town known for the Running of the Bulls. The architecture of the buildings and the narrow cobbled streets seemed to come right out of a book of fairy tales. I felt some regret that I hadn’t pushed a little harder the night before to get into the heart of the city, but knew that I had made the right decision to honor the limits of my rehabbing leg.

I had just entered the eastern edge of the city when a roundabout presented itself and I couldn’t make sense of the arrows to keep me on the Camino path. I made the best decision I could and walked along a stretched out boulevard. I wasn’t sure I was on the right path, but I was in no hurry. There were always good things to discover.

An early morning delectable discovery

Just a few blocks after my turn I discovered an early morning bakery already open. A couple of men were in there drinking coffee and chatting. I put my pack down, looked over the full case of freshly baked delectables, ordered a couple of delicious pastries and a cafe con leche (sort of like the American latte, but better!). That was the first gift.

After enjoying the early morning delights I continued along the boulevard. I still didn’t see more arrows confirming that I was on the right path, but given that it was a long straight boulevard, I thought maybe the arrows would be positioned at the next intersection.

A few blocks later I arrived at a major 5-way intersection. No arrows. Now I knew. It was time to turn around. I knew exactly where I had made my mistake—the roundabout that had confused me. I walked the 3/4 mile stretch back, found the roundabout, and reassessed the signs. This time they made sense and I began the adventure through the city again.

Walking through Pamploma in the early morning

But it was not easy interpreting the small arrows in the midst of intersections and multiple lanes of traffic. I made two more wrong turns, but this time easily recognized my mistake within a half a block or so. I sort of enjoying trying to figure out the route through town.

Then came the second gift. I arrived at another intersection and stood puzzled for a moment as I decided whether I needed to go straight across the street or turn right through the business district. I turned right. At the same time that I realized I had made the wrong choice again I heard a whistle.

Behind me was an older man whistling to get my attention and waving me over to him. Albert didn’t know any English and he simply pointed his finger ahead of him clearly saying, “It’s this way!” But he didn’t stop there. It took about fifteen minutes of walking with him before I clearly got the message. Albert, a very fit 80-year old was on his daily walk and was glad to take me as far as the edge of the city where he would need to loop back.

He also pointed to the various signs marking the Camino and then made a point of telling me where I wouldn’t see signs, but would need to trust that I was on the right path. Forty-five minutes later Albert turned around and we wished each other well with the hand motions we had perfected by then.

Arriving at the top of the mountain

The strange thing was that I was as grateful for the initial wrong turn that delivered me to the bakery and the long boulevard as I was for Albert’s assistance keeping me on the path. Both were part of the experience of the Camino. By the time Albert waved me over I was already comfortable with making my best guess approach and backtracking, as needed.

I think this is the thing about the Camino. I had no pre-determined destination to get to that night. I would simply go as far as I could or as far as I wanted to and then find an albergue for the night. If I got off the intended path for a couple of kilometers it didn’t change a thing. In fact, if I got off the path I might just discover some sort of a delight that I hadn’t expected.

After leaving Albert before the big climb I thought about that. I realized that in recent years I had been living my life more in alignment with this pilgrimage experience. That is, simply stepping into life and not worrying too much about whether it is the right thing or the wrong thing. Living as if there are really no mistakes. Every choice can be a right choice.

I was grateful for the wrong turns. I was also grateful for Albert. Both arrived as gifts in two different disguises.