A pilgrim on the Camino is on a mission: to reach Santiago.
While there are many caminos that lead there, once you have chosen a path, it is better to stick to it.
To help the pilgrim, there are many signs scattered here and there, telling him exactly where to go. Without these signs, the pilgrim, an obedient animal, is lost: "Should have I turned right before? Maybe left?" Such is the fate of the pilgrim in urban areas or when any fork on the road is not well-marked.
A peregrino on the Camino is always on the look-out for these signs: a yellow arrow, a small (or big) pile of rocks, a shell, be it the standard yellow on blue Camino icon or a metallic shell on the pavement. All are signs that the pilgrim recognizes and follows religiously (some more so than others).
The same kind of obedience holds true for schedule. The pilgrim (most of them these days) follows a strict schedule. Up anywhere between 4 and 6am (6 being the standard), the pilgrim leaves between 7 and 8, walks, walks and walks some more (some take breaks, some don't) then at some point between 2 and 5pm (depending on rhythm, fatigue, enthusiasm and other factors), pilgrims find an albergue for the night. Then it's the pilgrim's dinner at 7pm, and lights out at 10pm.
Combine these two elements and you will find strange-looking, disheveled individuals, walking more like zombies than human (living) beings on Sunday afternoon in Pamplona, looking up, down and all-around for signs of the Camino or the nearest albergue. Worst, they will be looking for a menú del peregrino which they will never find. Because the pilgrim, even though he is in Spain, is not of Spain. He is of the Camino. In Spain, you eat dinner at 9pm. Too late for a pilgrim. When the pilgrim has walked for an hour already, the Spaniard is barely waking up. The pilgrim jet-lag can be the source of confusion to both parties. Unlike the tourist, the pilgrim may not enjoy big cities because it interrupts his camino routine. First he longs for a heart-warming, home-made meal sitting at a table with other pilgrims, sharing stories and adventures of the day, swapping data ("Where did you start?" "Where are you going tomorrow?" "How are your feet?"). This is where the pilgrim finds "home" and his family of sorts. Eating tapas with locals or tourists alike in a crowded terrace (even if Hemingway himself sat there) is not the pilgrim's cup of tea. And then, the following day, he gets lost trying to escape the urban tentacles of the metropolis.
But then, he sees the signs, and finds his way, clearly marked; the way that leads him, slowly yet irrevocably, all the way to Santiago.
July 1, 2013.
Mañeru, Navarra.
Camino de Santiago de Compostela.
OMG, Anne, how do you still find the energy to be so funny with all that walking?? Was almost peeing my pants about the hungry zombies wanting an early dinner :-) Well, I take it as a fabulous sign, a sign, that you are in good spirits. I daresay I know you a little and I can extract that from those lines.
ReplyDeleteKeep marching on, ma chere, am with you in spirits - and in early dinners. All love, Dagz