Day Eight: Porriño to Redondela

However did I get so blessed as to have beautiful surroundings to wander about, wonderful people to share in the experience, and a heart exploding with love and contentment? It is late at night and I am already tucked into my bunk, but there is so much to say -- so I will try to fit it all in. 

This morning we woke in our albergue and had breakfast in our pajamas; the albergue had a beautiful terrace overlooking the city where we watched the sun rise and sipped our coffee. The morning was brisk and we set an appropriately brisk pace; and in no time we were a little over five kilometers in. Last night CJ, Collie, and I stayed at s different albergue than Catia, Itamal, and Robbi; we weren't sure if they were a little ahead of us on the trail or a little behind us, but thanks to our quick pace, we were soon passing pilgrims (always with a smile and a "Buen Camino") and came upon our friends; we proceeded to walk the entire rest of the day with them. 

I really enjoy all of the pilgrims we walk with -- Catia is a little older than I, but we are in the same place in life: not yet married (but with fiancés), working full time, repeat Camino goers, dreaming of and planning for the future; today we discussed the many lessons that the Camino has taught us, this trek in particular about patience. I had to learn that sometimes it is better to enjoy the journey you are on than to push to get to a final destination; and she had to learn that physical limitations can sometimes put you right where you are meant to be. If either of us had had our way, we would be in much different places on the Camino at this moment -- but we both agree that we are exactly where we are meant to be. She taught me a saying her mother used to tell her about working for your goals that I thought was very insightful; she said: when you hold out your hand for a handout, the only things that will fall from the sky are rain and bird poop; so you must use your hands to work for what you get. 

Itamal is fun to be around; his stories of adventure and experience are captivating. We actually were discussing our travels, comparing trips, and realized that we had drank vodka in the exact some bar in Kraków, verified by picture; how small the world is! He is walking the Camino with his father, and it is heartwarming to see him hang back when his father is losing steam or help him come up with the correct word in English when only the Hebrew word comes to mind. His jeans are ripped and a lumberjack would envy his beard; he works in the music industry in Israel but is contemplating going back to university to study. 

Collie keeps us all in stitches; he is full of stories and anticdotes that are enhanced by his quick speech and Irish accent. He has been on more caminos than the rest of us combined -- and even though he is in his late forties, he still has to phone his mum every few nights to let her know he's doing fine. He was raised in a Catholic home, but does not practice Catholicism anymore -- more so than that, he seems very distant and skeptical of the church. Any positive mention of the Catholic Church is met with a negating comment; he openly expressed that all his experiences of the church are negative, which is fair enough. Not everyone who grew up Catholic feel as strongly about Catholicism as I do. It always hurts my heart when people have such a negative view of the faith I hold so dear; but for every story he tells of bad, I can think of so many good -- he remembers being "punished" by the nuns in school and said that they must live terribly sad / boring lives; he mustn't know the nuns I know, for I've never met a group of more fun loving and good natured women than the congregation of Sister Servants of Christ the King nuns living at Villa Loretto, caring for the sick and forgotten and tending to the farm; and the nuns who taught me in school elevated my education by teaching me not only literature and religion and Spanish (ps: a big shout out to Hermana Marcia whose diligent teaching of Spanish prayers has seen me through yet another mass in Spanish) but about how to be a strong woman of faith and to never fear the adventure to which God beckons you. I enjoy discussing current events with Collie, especially politics in the US and globally. 

Robbi is a kind and wise spirit -- we have taken to calling him out "wise master" -- like a kung fu master or a rabbi, and really a rabbi would be more accurate on account of his strong Jewish heritage. He keeps kosher and practices his faith. His English is sometimes limiting to our conversations, but much less so than my inability to speak Hebrew, Arabic, or Yiddish. I enjoy hearing him tell stories from the Torah, for the stories are the same as those I heard growing up and explored later in theology classes in university. We had a wonderful discussion about religion tonight, him asking questions about "how does that work" in Catholicism and me listening to his wise words. He is one of those pilgrims that even when you aren't communicating with words, his kind spirit makes you feel connected. 

And of course my favorite pilgrim to walk with is the one I brought with me from home. My heart is so full of love as we walk this journey together. I have seen him grow so much just in the week we've been on the trail; I think I infected him with the Camino bug! He currently is walking with a bamboo walking stick he has named "the thunder stick" (from a movie) which has inspired Catia to name her walking stick "little thunder". I know his feet are aching and his muscles are sore and that two years ago, walking across Portugal into Spain on a religious pilgrimage wasn't even on his radar of things to do with his life, but that he is here by my side and supporting my passion (and becoming passionate about it, too) makes my hear so happy it could burst. 

When we arrived in Rodondela, our destination for the day, we checked in at the municipal albergue, unloaded our gear, and went in search of lunch. A little exhausted with the pilgrim menu (how many pounds of papas fritas can a pilgrim really eat?!) we found a pizza place where we consumed a potato free meal. Then it was back to the albergue to shower and rest. We decided that we would cook in instead of eat out tonight (that story is coming up soon ...) so around seven CJ and I headed to the grocery to pick up a few items and then headed ... to church!! 

There haven't been any pilgrim masses since I arrived on the Camino, and though I spend much of my day while walking in prayer, it just isn't the same as attending mass. We arrived just in time to participate in the rosary before mass started. Attending mass in Spain is both amazing and confounding: beautiful that no matter the country or language, the Catholic mass is the same, so I know each ritual by heart, each prayer and movement and handshake is ingrained within me, so weather I'm in Germany or Spain or Portugal or Vietnam, I feel right at home inside the church; and confusing because though I have the basics down, the nuances of the mass are a little hazy (the readings are not always easily recognized or the petition response is hard to catch). My mind wandered a bit during mass tonight and I thought to myself: I wonder if this is how my stroke patients with aphasia feel while interacting with the world. I always tell families "it's like he woke up and everyone around him is speaking Greek and he's speaking Chinese and isn't sure how he even learned Chinese". Being at mass in a different language, you understand what is going on, but the words don't make sense; and when you try to say the words, everyone just looks at you and smiles at the effort you're making, but don't actually understand your words. It might be the closest I've come to understanding their plight. 

After mass was over we returned to our albergue ... where the cooking adventure began. The albergue has a kitchen with stove top and skink and refrigerater ... but it only has one pot, one plate, and one cup. Hm. Catia and Itamal and Robbi cheated -- they made sandwiches. Collie really cheated by eating out! But I decided that I would cook something. Many of you know that cooking is not my forte in life, so what inspired me to become a Camino chef is beyond me, but lo and behold: I made for CJ and I pasta carbonara! Well ... I made a rather soupy form of pasta carbonara. And it came in a package that you just needed to add water and butter. BUT considering the challenge of cooking with limited resources AND the fact that all the instructions on the package were in Spanish, I'd say the meal was a success!! We suplented it with sangria and green olives. Dinner was of course filled with laughter and exchanging is stories. 

Photos ... 

Breakfast on the terrace. 

Morning mountains!! Lovely to see, trying to climb ... 

A little shop in Mos where we stopped for a drink and bathroom break; and we bought pins for our backpacks! 

The passport is staring to fill with stamps!! 

Up the mountain ... then down the mountain; it is the Camino way. 

Can you guess whose feet got the first blisters? Yep -- mine. Luckily they are just heel blisters so they don't actually hurt / fill with fluid. Just look painful in pictures ... haha Both of our feet are doing great!! 

The outside of our albergue. 

The altarpiece at the church here in Rodondela -- the top figure is St. James the apostle. After mass the little ladies around us motioned for us to approach the nuns sitting in the front, that they would stamp our passports with the church's stamp. We were wished a Buen Camino from everyone! 

The stages of cooking -- CJ took the melted spoon picture; he wanted to document all steps in the process, including the one where I thought I could stir the boiling water and butter with a plastic spoon. 

In honor of Vera and Jarek and Gosia -- missing you three so very much, but thinking about you often as I walk (and more often as I drink sangria). ❤️

And my bed for the night. 

And now as I said, I am laying in bed, exhausted from a day of walking and and laughing and praying and wondering how it is that my life came to be so blessed. 

Buen Camino.