The adventures and misadventures of the Jacobean Route (chapter 2)
Doing the St. James Way is also about sightseeing. The towns we pass through are rich in history and monuments, and beautifully preserved. The Spanish government has taken advantage of this pilgrimage route, which has existed for centuries, crossing the north of the country from the Pyrenees to Portugal. Some stretches of the route that were in the worst state of repair have been moved in recent years to run alongside the road, despite the wishes of the pilgrims. In this way, car travelers get a glimpse of these exotic and obstinate people who walk day after day, come sunshine or rain, repeating a centuries-old act that began in 950, the year Archbishop Le Puy set off from Aquitaine with a large entourage to make the journey. In Le Puy's wake came the economic development of the region along the route and the bizarre habit of the more fortunate to pay a poor wretch to walk the more than 720 kilometers and thus obtain divine forgiveness of the payer's sins and guarantee him a seat in heaven.
Nowadays, when walking is no longer synonymous with the risk of death or robbery, pilgrims can afford to have an intense nightlife. Those who have been walking for longer participate in it less intensely. But Europeans who take a week a year off to walk a section of the route, and those who walk without carrying their loads or sleeping in hostels, are full of energy to give and sell. They drink a lot, sleep late and, if the urge is strong, some will even try to steal a few moments of intimacy with their partners, to the complete despair of the pilgrims who share the same room and want to sleep. Sleeping in a hostel is not for the faint-hearted. But the worst of all is undoubtedly the smell of foot odor and snoring.
By the end of the first ten days of walking, I was looking a bit dirty. My clothes, washed at night during shower time, were hung up with clothespins in my backpack to dry in the wind while I walked. By now, those of us walking at the same pace knew each other's underwear. There is no elegance in the realm of pilgrimage!
In the very first days, I met Frédéric, a very handsome and kind Frenchman. He was obsessed with the stock market, in other words, nothing spiritual. But we soon became friends and started walking together. A few days later, a young German woman joined us. Rahel was the artistic type, she loved to draw. We would often bump into her, sitting somewhere along the way looking dreamy, her huge case of marker pens open on her lap. I don't think I ever saw her take a photo. Rahel was still a student living on a scholarship, but one day she surprised me by asking if I knew of a good charity in Brazil. She would like to make a donation! I had to confess, rather awkwardly, that I didn't know any good or bad ones.
Then one day I heard someone say that Maria, a friend from Rio de Janeiro who I had met during lectures at the Club of Spain, was a day's walk ahead of me. I decided to speed up the pace to meet her and did the equivalent of two days' walking in one. This taught me a new lesson: the body has limits. Not everything your head wants is good for your body. In this way I was able to find her, but as I had to stay in the hostel for two days to recover from a bout of tendinitis caused by overexertion, I lost her again.
Maria was part of a group of four hikers who always walked together. As they walked more slowly than I did, I would soon meet up with them again. But instead of being delighted to see this friend again, I was disappointed. I noticed that the room where they slept was always anomalously empty. I soon discovered that when they arrived at the dormitory, they would close the door of the room they occupied and tell the others that it was already full. Pilgrimage alone doesn't make anyone better, you have to want to learn the lessons you stumble upon along the way. And knowing how to share is one of the basic lessons for those who sleep in hostels for pilgrims.
Disappointed, I returned to my old motto: in this life, we are born, live and die alone. If, by some grace of God, you discover a person with whom you can share good times, whether of love or friendship, you should thank the heavens for this gift and treat them in a very special way. But there, by the side of the road, on the outskirts of Burgos, I would discover proof that this gift is not given to everyone: the tomb of the kings Juan II of Castile and Isabel of Portugal in the Cartuja de Miraflores. Legend has it that this couple fought all the time. They were immortalized by the sculptor in their marble tomb lying side by side, but looking in opposite directions!
I resumed my solitary journey and, luckily for me, I was welcomed with open arms by my new-old friends, Frédéric and Rahel, who forgave my temporary abandonment. By now my body was running like a well-oiled machine. Nothing hurt, the backpack was light, the food was plentiful, delicious and well-digested, the wine didn't give me a headache and the walkers who kept pace with me were good companions for drinks and conversation. But the snoring... Eventually, I started sleeping in a small hotel to escape the hostel's snoring serenade and replenish my energy.
Passing through the small villages was full of attractions. The Spanish taverns, with their plastic fringed curtains to keep out the flies, were an excellent shelter in the strongest hours of the sun, when it became impossible to walk. We would then stop for a glass of wine and a raw ham, which the owner would slice thinly from the ham on the counter. At siesta time, we would lie in the shade of a tree or a roll of hay left in the field. The villages were almost always deserted, especially in the early afternoon. On one occasion, however, we came across two very stern ladies, all dressed in black, who were fighting while sweeping the sidewalk in front of their houses. At some point, in the heat of the fight, the brooms were thrown to the ground and one of them turned her back to the other and waved her skirts, exposing her bare buttocks as a total show of contempt for her neighbor. At this hilarious scene, the three of us burst into laughter and had to run, because the exhibitionist old lady soon retrieved her broom and ran after us, waving it in the air.
As September progressed, the air slowly changed. The weather would soon turn cool and rainy as we entered Galicia. By now we had covered two thirds of the way and spirits were calming down. But I'll tell you about the adventures at the end of the road in the next chapter.
(End of second chapter)
Voltar